Zanarkand, Full Circle
by SirGecko
Summary: Tidus: blitz player and ladies' man. Auron: cynical bartender and solemn guardian. Yuna: heiress to political fame. Lulu: ambitious district attorney. Seymour: ruthless head of state. Paine: sociopathic assassin. Kinoc: the most powerful man alive. Colliding with friend and foe alike in ways exhilarating, unthinkable and raw. This is Zanarkand, where the world comes Full Circle. AU
1. Fifth and Jefferson

Hello, friends. This is my second Final Fantasy X story, and probably the darkest piece of literature I've ever thought of or put to paper. Originally, I had started this story with no clue as to the direction I wanted to take it, and had intended on abandoning it long ago. Then, the idea for the story sort of took on a life of its own in my mind, and thus its now one of my current obsessions, and I am immensely proud of it. I hope that you'll join me in sharing the experience of the Full Circle.

I wasn't able to include enough information about the story in the summary, so the full summary is below.

_Welcome to Zanarkand, the City of the Far North. A thriving icon for tranquility and prosperity. A place where anybody can make anything of themselves. A place where anything can happen, and does. _

_However, this fairy tale is soon to end . . . for Zanarkand is also . . ._

_Shrouded in secrets and deceit. Threatened by corruption and terrorism. Doomed to descend into chaos. Very soon, twelve people will be forever changed:_

_-KINOC -  
the director of the Spiran Intelligence Agency with his own ulterior motives and the former boss of . . ._

_-AURON -  
a cynical bartender, marred by a cruel and haunting past, who often chats with a regular customer named . . ._

_-WAKKA -  
a Yevonite and a professional blitzball player for the Zanarkand Abes, who is good friends with . . ._

_-TIDUS -  
__a rising star for the Zanarkand Abes who drinks and sleeps with whomever he wants, until he meets . . ._

_-YUNA -  
a political icon who wants to escape from her own life and its future, and is the daughter of . . ._

_-BRASKA -  
__the world-renowned mayor of Zanarkand with a very soft heart, who is good friends with . . . _

_-CID -  
a jovial man who escaped Bikanel Island to become the Deputy Mayor of Zanarkand, and is the father of . . . _

_-RIKKU -  
a happy-go-lucky Al Bhed girl, and living proof that bad things can happen to good people, when she meets . . ._

_-PAINE -  
__a sociopath and a skilled assassin whose jobs take her all over the world, and attract the interest of . . ._

_-LULU -  
the very talented and ambitious District Attorney of Zanarkand whose ambition is to convict . . ._

_-SEYMOUR -  
__the ruthless mayor of Bevelle whose only goal is the destruction of the Al Bhed, covered by . . ._

_-LEBLANC -  
lead achorwoman of the Spiran Internaional News Network whose stories include . . .  
__  
KINOC, AURON, WAKKA, TIDUS, YUNA, BRASKA, CID, RIKKU, PAINE, LULU, AND SEYMOUR . . ._

_This is Zanarkand, where the world comes Full Circle._

**THIS STORY IS RATED M FOR THE FOLLOWING:**

**STRONG LANGUAGE  
STRONG GRAPHIC VIOLENCE  
SOME STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT AND REFERENCES  
DRUG AND ALCOHOL USE**

**IF THERE IS ANY CHANCE THAT YOU'LL FIND ANY OF THE ABOVE MENTIONED CONTENT OFFENSIVE, LEAVE NOW. I WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY OFFENSE TAKEN BY THE STORY'S CONTENT.**

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED**.

The first chapter introduces only four of the characters: Auron, Wakka, Leblanc, and Tidus. You'll find out what each does as you read. The same goes for the rest when I introduce them.

Ha. Glad I got that out of the way. Oh, and I don't own Final Fantasy X or anything associated with it.

So, give it a shot. On with chapter 1!

* * *

_**Part One: City of the Far North**_

_The delicate balance of the world that we see proceeding as normal can be disturbed by the most subtle, yet unprecedented of events. We take great comfort in the mundane, the normal and the expected. The flow of life is serene, yet unique to one person and insignificant to the rest. Perhaps that is why we are so appalled when life reminds us that we are at its mercy. Circumstances can forever change in an instant. We don't know when to expect it. Sometimes, we're caught completely by surprise._

_All it takes is one moment of time. And even though a clock continues to tick . . . _

_. . . sometimes we don't._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 1: Fifth and Jefferson**

_  
_Zanarkand, Highway 33.  
23:58.  
Wednesday, November 20._

If one were to view Zanarkand from the sky, they would have to marvel at just how unique the city was. Surrounded by water, at the base of a dormant mountain, full of different people, different things, and one of the best Blitzball teams from all the land. One would admire how the whole city seemed to sparkle, like gold dust scattered about the ground. The city was its own entity, a body of sorts with all its different parts working together to function effectively. For most, it was a pleasant place to live, albeit large. It was Zanarkand. Only respect could be given for its sheer proportions and its immense size. The entity, spreading out and consuming all surrounding land as a plague would take over a body.

Enter Zanarkand. Vibrant neon signs, advertising everything from the bar and club on Union Street to the latest Hybrid SUV, on sale with an employee discount for only 25,121 gil. People crammed like sardines on the sidewalk, talking, laughing, conversing on cell phones, window-shopping . . . all overlooking the occasional homeless man sprawled out against a grimy building, wearing dirty, faded clothes. Cars strolled the streets of the mammoth city, stopping occasionally for a jaywalker or a red light. All behaved the same, yet were different upon closer examination.

Yes, Zanarkand was truly a unique place. A famous philosopher, sitting with a five-gil coffee cup in hand, had once remarked to the person he was sitting with, "Zanarkand is immortal. It will live on forever, an entity never to rest, never to sleep." This philosopher died soon afterward, but the people of the city loved his analogy, and thus Zanarkand was dubbed, "The City that Never Sleeps." People from as far away as Luca had heard the pseudonym, but could only truly experience it when they paid the expensive airfare to get to Zanarkand.

Naturally though, it was well worth the trip. Many people who had flown to Zanarkand commented on how majestic it was to see the city just slowly materialize from behind Mount Gagazet, which bordered the city on the south. Those who took the red-eye flight to Zanarkand were the most rewarded, for as mentioned before, Zanarkand was at the peak of its beauty at night. Whether it be a starry night or night when the whole city was blanketed in thick fog, Zanarkand was always renowned for its unwavering beauty. The night-life of the city was also world-famous. There was something for everybody after the sun set, from the opera to nice restaurants to the red light district.

With a population of more than nine million people, Zanarkand ranked second among the major cities in Spira in terms of population and geographical size (Home being the largest). Those who lived there often lamented over its size, but said it was a fair trade compared to other major cities. When asked, the typical response would be the fact that there was more to offer in Zanarkand than in other cities. There were more people, and there was more diversity. But with all these advantages came the usual traffic jams, the feeling of clostrophobia, and the sky-high crime rate. But the people of Zanarkand had acquired a reputation, like the city itself, as some of the most hardy and eccentric people in the world. They were what made the place so wonderful and exciting.

Of course, there are those who would disagree.

In the northeast section of Zanarkand, a lone car streaked along the otherwise deserted side streets, fearlessly entering the 'seedy' part of town. The corvette was barely visible, black as the darkest night and detectable only because of the street lights reflecting off its body and its headlights shining in front of it. It owned the road tonight, as it did almost every night when there was very little traffic. Indeed the digital clock on the dashboard of this car read 12:01 a.m.

Inside the car, the air conditioner was blowing, droning in the monotonous tone that few actually appreciated for the white noise. It bathed the car in its frigid air. The driver of the car reached over and absentmindedly flicked the little lever to increase the power of the air conditioner. More cold air blasted forth, cooling the driver's face. Soft and soulful music played through the speakers of the car, classical opera that was the man's favorite genre of music. The driver turned up the volume on the stereo system in compensation for the increased amount of sound put forth by the air conditioner. As he tapped one gloved finger on the stereo system in tune to the orchestra, he couldn't help but steal a glance at what he and the car were passing by.

As the car progressed along the street, the buildings became increasingly dilapidated. Garbage littered the sidewalk and the sides of the street, and the occasional plastic bag suddenly spiraled off the ground and into the air, carried by the cold and gentle night breeze. The street light in front of his car flickered, as though the wire that powered the bright bulb was frayed and couldn't keep a constant connection. Steam rose from a manhole cover near the opposite side of the street, and the man's nostrils were greeted by the unpleasant smell of raw sewage. He wrinkled his nose and flipped the switch on the dashboard so that the car was recycling the cold air instead of drawing it in from outside. He opened the window as well to vent out the air. Soon, the pungent odor disappeared, and the smell of new leather returned.

The car stopped for a red light. But as there were no cars coming in any direction at the four-way intersection, he glanced around and made a left with the light still red. He was late for work already. The man sighed. Good, he thought to himself. There were no cops hanging around in the shadows. He had been busted more than once by the sneaky police department. Rightly so, because he was, in truth, entering the most crime-ridden section of Zanarkand. He wouldn't go so far as to call it a ghetto, but it was quite close.

In the distance, behind him and to his left, he could see the industrial part of the city. The round skyscrapers , so tall that one of them obscured part of the moon, by now high in the sky. The lights of the buildings illuminated the sky so that barely any stars were visible. If there was one of the many things about Zanarkand that this man didn't like, it was the light pollution. He always found it soothing to just lay under the stars at the end of a stressful day and gaze at them, wondering, thinking. So, instead of the stars, the man could see the smog and haze that had been previously belched into the air by the paper mills and other such refineries.

Zanarkand, in the man's opinion, wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Maybe it was because he had lived there for so long. The people were often rude, the skyline was riddled with man-made creations that distracted one from the natural beauty that was present. Everything was material now. The simple things in life, once treasured and now forgotten, were a very prominent presence in the man's life. Even though he did drive one of the most desired and expensive cars on the road today, the man still lived relatively poorly. The car was the one thing he had wanted for many years, and through a decade of strenuous saving, he was finally able to purchase the sleek black corvette.

He rounded a corner, where on the other side he could see a young woman leaning against a wall. She was wearing red fish net leggings, a very short black miniskirt, and a white blouse tied into a knot at the bottom so that her stomach was visible. In addition, the blouse was half-undone at the top, showing off her more than ample cleavage. Black high heels glinted in the light conferred by the headlights. A lit cigarette was gripped tightly between the girl's left index and middle fingers, the wispy smoke from the outward-facing end dancing in the wind. Her eyes lit up at the sight of such a nice car, and lit up even more when she saw the driver. He slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window.

"Need a ride?" He asked coldly. He was late for work, and here was this young girl standing on one of the most gang-ridden street corners in the whole city. Some people had absolutely no common sense.

She sauntered over to the car, her hips swaying in a titillating manner. "I was going to ask you the same question," she whispered. "Do you need a ride?" She slid sensually onto the hood of his car, smirking at him.

The man knew that by 'ride', she didn't mean one in a vehicle. "No," the man said shortly. "If you are content to stay here, than please get off my car. I'm late for work." He had to admit that he really didn't go out of his way to persuade them to get away from here.

The girl took a long draw off her cigarette and blew it out the corner of her mouth. "Sure?" she asked, her red lips turning up in a smile. "I'm more than free."

"I'm sure," he said, not able to hold back the disdain resonating on the tip of his tongue. "Now, get off my car." He said it slowly, dangerously, and with a tone of unmistakable finality.

The girl pouted, but complied and rolled herself off the car, so that the man could see . . . well, more than he wanted to see. He rolled up his window and gunned the engine, roaring away from the street corner. It was the same almost every night. Whether it be her or some other girl, he always stopped to offer them assistance. But all they were focused on was the job. In a way, the man felt sorry for them, but in others, he couldn't help despising them. How one could give up their bodies, to be used like a tissue before being discarded, was beyond the man's bounds of thinking. He didn't dare to hypothesize why a whore became a whore without asking one. Which, the man sighed, was quite unlikely.

He had reached his second turn, a right turn. The light was green, so he went ahead and turned onto Jefferson Drive. Since Jefferson Drive was a main street that came from the industrial section of Zanarkand, the buildings here were a little more kempt than the others in the area. The man continued to barrel through the intersections, not caring whether the light was green or red. There were no other cars around anyway. And he was ten minutes late for work. He hated being late. It was one of the things he couldn't stand in other people, and he hated it even more when he was guilty of it. A man of schedules, this man was.

Now, his corvette was facing away from the city. The sky was blocked out by the enormous Mt. Gagazet looming over the city. The whole mountain was blanketed in snow. It was late in the year, and impending snowstorms dominated the news to such a degree that the man grew sick of watching it (and since news was virtually all he could stand to watch on TV, that ought to give one an idea just how big a deal this was). Very heavy now was expected for virtually a week straight. Zanarkand had vicious winters for as long as the man could remember, and this year was forecasted to be no different. In fact, most weather experts were predicting a winter so severe that all traffic, whether it be air or by ground, was going to be halted due to the snow accumulation. No traffic in, and no traffic out. A winter of that severity had happened only twice in Zanarkand's recorded history. Indeed, the man could see clouds snaking their way around the mountain, obviously bound for the city.

The car made its final turn of the night, onto the corner of Fifth Street. He pulled into the small and rundown parking lot of his place of employment: the Blitz Bar and Grill. He had worked there for the past seven years, after quitting his previous job in the inner city. It was a high-pay, high-risk job that involved often-extreme circumstances. He shared an apartment with a teenager named Tidus, his God-child. He was a professional blitzball player for the Zanarkand Abes. Though his salary was ample and several times larger than the man's, Tidus successfully managed to squander it all on gambling, drugs, booze, and women.

The man shook his head as he walked toward the front entrance of the bar. Tidus was a lost soul. He had no direction in his life, he would become a drunk and an outcast, he would throw away the one talent he had . . . just like his father. The man knew Tidus's father well, as he was a good friend of Jecht in his younger years. But Jecht was an irresponsible man and a poor father. It was no wonder Tidus turned out the way that he did. The man couldn't wholly blame Tidus for his behavior, even though the boy had no respect for anybody else.

He had reached the entrance to the bar. The windows in the front glowed with numerous flourescent signs, all advertising different things. Naturally, there was the classic, bold OPEN sign, whose letters glowed reddish-pink while the border was flourescent blue. In addition, however, there were signs advertising all kinds of beer: Lucan Mist, Mountain Ice, and others. Despite being in a poor and rundown section of the city, the bar looked like one that could be found almost anywhere.

That is, until you walked inside.

The man opened the faded, peeling wooden door to the bar and entered. The bar was extremely dim, lit only by a couple of lamps on the bar and light bulbs hanging off a thin string from the ceiling, spaced every few tables. Booths and small tables lined the windows facing the street as well as the wall opposite the man. The light bulbs over the tables were covered with an assortment of dust and cobwebs, so that the light cast by the already feeble bulbs was even dimmer than normal. Little light was also thrown by the neon signs that hung on the wall behind the bar and the counter: one of a blitzball and one of a generic beer. Signs were littered around the bar, most with humorous blurbs on them. A big aerosol can was situated at the cash register, with a picture of a bull on the front of it, and underneath, the words "Bullshit Repellant" declared the purpose of the can.

The bar was constructed entirely of old and dark wood, much of it rough oak and other assorted local wood. A thin layer of grime had built up on the side walls and in the corners over the years; a mixture of sap and whatever else was floating in the bar. The floor as well was constructed of wood, though it wasn't polished. Instead, the floor was oiled to resemble an old-fashioned pub, but the only effect it personified in this bar was yet another one of dilapidation. Cobwebs hung everywhere. In addition, the occasional spider could be seen descending into a guest's dinner, which accordingly sent the customer screaming for whoever was close by that could handle it. And that was usually the man, who was currently standing in the doorway.

Tonight, smoke hung in the air like a fog. As it always did. Though smoking was frowned upon by the man, he could do nothing to change policy as he was not the owner. Few people remained in the bar tonight, but the two who were there were smoking away and watching the dusty television mounted over the bar. One was smoking an old pipe, the other clutched a cigarette in his withered hand. The man coughed slightly, the pungent and foul odor of tobacco hitting his nostrils. He turned away and walked along the wall a ways until he came upon the log book hanging against the wall for employees. The book had hung there for the last five years, and it was faded, dirty, and covered with grease stains. He picked the book off the hook it was hanging on, flipped to the correct page, and wrote down his name, date and the time he arrived.

'Auron - 12:13 a.m. Thursday, November 21.'

"Yo, Shady!" a call from the kitchen rang out, startling Auron as he replaced the book on its hook.

At this, the customers in the bar turned their heads, and saw Auron standing near the wall. He was looking in the direction where the call came from, but he could instantly feel the eyes of the customers on him. He turned to them and gave a curt nod, and the customers murmured a hello in return. To them, he was a mysterious man who never liked to socialize much. Most knew him only by his nickname: Shady. The owner of the bar had coined it the instant Auron walked through the door for his job interview seven years ago. Auron disapproved of the nickname as well, but felt there was no need to fight it off. So, for the last seven years, he was known by the Bar-folk as Shady.

Auron sighed irritably and toward the kitchen. The customers didn't watch him; they were concentrating on their drinks or else watching the championship boxing match on the TV. Walking along the wall, he went back into the kitchen where Tony was gathering his stuff. Tony always worked the evening shift, the shift where it was busiest, and the shift with the most women. He thought of himself as a 'player', and Auron disliked him for that very reason. In addition, he was quite egotistical and arrogant; perhaps it had something to do with his charm with women. He vaguely reminded Auron of Tidus.

"Shady!" Tony came up to Auron, backpack slung over his shoulder. Auron gave only a nod in return. "Where the fuck you been, man? I had a date at quarter past!" Tony spoke with an annoying drawl, a mixture of laziness and sarcasm.

"I was simply late," Auron replied. "Did you call your date and tell her you'd have to cover for me until I arrived?"

"Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Tony asked, scratching his head. "No man, I didn't call her."

"Then don't complain," Auron said coldly, straightening up the kitchen. "If you lack the courtesy to tell her you'll be late, then it doesn't matter if I am or not."

"Lighten up, Shady," Tony said, shaking his head. "Damn, people these days . . ."

"Goodnight," Auron called as Tony lit a cigarette and walked out the door.

Auron put the conversation out of his mind and walked slowly out behind the bar. The bar was probably the most used and frequented part of the whole place, as the majority of the customers ventured in only for the alcohol. Though the place was also a restaurant, Auron spent more time behind the bar than behind the grill. As he walked, he glanced around. The small section that was the bar was really like his second home. He knew the bar like the back of his hand, and all the customers complimented on his speedy, yet efficient ability to mix drinks. Though it was a compliment of little merit, Auron took it for what it was.

"Yo, Shady," the man with the pipe rasped. "A White Russian, if you would, sir."

He was a wizened old man who looked thirty years older than he really was. Most of his teeth were missing, and the few that remained bore a strong resemblance to charcoal. He wore a dirty, blue plaid T-shirt with an equally dirty white undershirt underneath it. He also wore faded jeans with numerous holes in them, and his feet were protected only by old and tattered sandals. Auron, if he had been a more nosy and curious person, might have asked how he managed to afford such expensive drinks as White Russians. But it was neither necessary nor polite, so Auron said nothing.

Auron nodded and took a minute to mix the drink. Ice in the cup, mixed with milk, Kalua and Vodka. He placed it in front of the wizened old man.

"Here, Frank."

"Thanks, Shady," Frank wheezed. "So, how you been? Haven't seen you 'round here for a long time." He dragged the word 'long' for at least two seconds.

"I've been," Auron replied curtly, busying himself with dusting off the counters. "You?"

"I'm still breathin'," the man said. "S'far s'I'm concerned, that's gotta count for something, eh?" Here, he laughed, a wheezy laugh that sounded oddly pathetic.

Auron nodded. "How's the drink?"

Frank burped. "Pardon me," he said, taking a draw off his pipe. "S'alright, as usual Shady."

Auron nodded again, and continued to wipe down the bar. Tony had not cleaned off the last customer's glass, which was still half-full of beer. Auron took the glass, dumped the beer down the drain, and began to wash the glass at the tiny sink behind the bar, used for just that purpose. Finished, he hung the glass on one of the pegs in the dish rack to dry. Auron then took his rag and wiped down the area where the glass had been. In addition, Auron noticed that Tony had also forgotten to collect his tip, so Auron took the three quarters and pocketed them. The way he saw it, he wasn't responsible for Tony's irresponsibility.

Frank took a gulp of his drink. "You shoulda been here earlier man," Frank piped up. "One helluva brawl, I'm tellin' ya."

Auron wasn't interested, but decided to humor the old man nonetheless. "Is that so?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, man," Frank laughed his wheezy laugh again. "Tony was gettin' a little outta hand with the ladies."

Auron grunted, his famous grunt to those who knew him. "Hmph," he said. "No great surprise."

"No shit," Frank said. "He was hittin' on 'em, gropin' 'em, all sorts o' nasty shit." He coughed, a cough that Auron could tell was ridden with tarlike phlegm. "Anyways, this chick fought back. Slapped the bajeezus outta him. Tony's buddies and the girl's buddies got into it real bad," he continued. "I chipped in, o'course. Gave some guy who threw a chair at me a little one-two, eh?" Frank finished his story with a hint of pride in his gravelly voice, making fisticuffs and swinging his arms slightly, as if boxing.

Auron's perceptive side kicked in. This man must have no excitement in his life, he thought. A lonely guy, probably similar to a hermit. The bar was the only thing the man had. Auron had felt that way before as well. A long time ago, of course. Auron didn't want to even dredge up those memories. Forcing them out of his mind, he forced a smile onto his unshaven face.

"It sounds very exciting," Auron lied.

"Oh yeah man, it was intense," Frank said. He picked up his drink and downed what little was left of it. Then he reached his dirty and leathery hand into his pocket and slapped some change on the bar. "Keep the extra," he said, swiveling on his stool. "Time to go back to the shack."

"Goodnight," Auron said, briefly wondering if Frank's use of the word 'shack' was literal.

"See ya Shady." Frank walked out of the bar.

Auron found himself already eyeing the clock. He noted, to his irritation, that only twenty minutes had passed from the time he arrived to now. Only eight hours and forty minutes to go . . . it was gonna be one of those nights. The other customer seated at the bar had already exited, a few tattered and crinkled bills in addition to a couple of dimes lying still on the bar's surface. Auron moved over to collect the glass and the money. In the next couple of minutes, he washed the glass and put the money in the till. For now, it was just him and the babe posters on the wall.

Smirking slightly as he looked around the dingy bar, he grabbed a bottle of sake and a small shot glass. Meandering his way around the bar, he sat on the bar stool directly in front of the TV and poured himself some of the alcohol. Auron was perfectly aware that it was illegal to drink while he was on the job, but the owner of the bar trusted him to drink responsibly and only when nobody else was around. He sipped the drink and started flipping through the channels on the TV, anxious to get away from the racing that was on. He was looking for the nightly news. Quickly finding it, he rested the remote on the bar and began to watch a re-broadcasting of an earlier story where Leblanc, lead anchorwoman of SINN (the Spiran International News Network), briefed viewers on the feud between Bevelle and Luca. Leblanc wore the typical anchor's outfit. It consisted of a navy blue skirt with a small slit down the back and a white dress shirt. Very plain, but nevertheless professional.

"In an expansion of its agenda, and utilizing its newfound power on the world stage, the emboldened city of Bevelle has submitted its most recent statement to Luca, threatening Mayor Shelinda and her city that if they don't respond and comply with the wishes of Seymour Guado regarding their trade relationship with Home, they will be forced to impose unprecedented sanctions against the city," she said professionally. "Representatives of the Seymour administration were not available for comment on the matter, nor did they return our calls regarding the new laws passed by Seymour.

"In a related story, Mayor Shelinda of Luca has issued a response to Bevelle, stating that any action taken against the city of Luca and its inhabitants will be countered by a swift and, quote, 'crippling' response. Linda of the Lucan Press reports."

Right then, the picture shifted to Luca, right inside the town square, where the camera just took a look around at the surrounding buildings. A woman's voice resounded in the background.

"Mayor Shelinda issued a statement yesterday that responded to Mayor Seymour's threats against her city. The full transcript from which the statement was taken actually lamented for pages and pages, including an in-depth analysis on the proposed sanctions' effects on the city's economy. In full, it was basically another response in what has become a war of words between the two cities. The main issue is Bevelle's insistence that the Al Bhed's religious blasphemy is not to be economically condoned, versus Luca's claim that Seymour is attempting to hijack the position of Lucan Mayor by threatening a vital part of the city's economy. Peace talks between the two cities have failed miserably in the past couple of weeks, and some fear that the threats issued by both cities could eventually escalate to include military action."

Auron snorted and sipped his drink "What a waste," he scoffed at the TV. "These politicians have too much time on their hands if they're arguing about this moral nonsense."

"Nearly all independent experts agree that this rapidly-expanding diplomatic crisis stems not from Seymour's desire to exert a sphere of influence over other major cities, but from Luca's increasingly public alliance and friendship with Home. The Al Bhed metropolis has been viewed as a thorn in Bevelle's side for generations, an economic disruptor and 'moral antagonist'. The government in Bevelle is no doubt crying foul over Luca's preference to supporting Home's economy over theirs. This newfound boldness by a city that, for much of history, has been neutral territory in nearly all things diplomatic, has taken sides economically in such an obvious fashion has infuriated Seymour.

"Zanarkand has been a vocal supporter and close ally of Home for generations, especially in recent years with Cid, an Al Bhed politician, as the Deputy Mayor. Zanarkand and Bevelle have been at war more than once in the past over issues relating to the Al Bhed, but so far, Seymour has shown little interest in publicly criticizing Zanarkand's Mayor Braska and his administration.

"Though Bevelle's friends seem to be dwindling at a rapid pace, Seymour Guado, a native of Guadosalam, doesn't seem to mind. Indeed, he has little reason to. Aside from his foreign policy, he has completely reversed Bevelle's stagnant economy, made its military a force to be reckoned with, and put the city back on the map in the international community. As such, public opinion polls within Bevelle show Seymour Guado doing extremely well. According to a poll conducted a week ago by SINN, 71 percent of the population support and agree with his decisions, while 26 percent do not. From Downtown Luca, Linda Bronstein, Lucan Press."

Auron picked up the remote and flipped off the TV in disgust. Every day he would hear about this conflict between Bevelle and Luca, and every time the media would just reiterate how nearsighted and reactionary people could be. Fighting over such petty things as religion in politics, when there was much to be done around the world. Poverty in the smaller towns, injustice toward the Al Bhed, security of their city, but all that went unnoticed. Auron was thankful that Mayor Braska, Zanarkand's mayor, was taking an official stance on the sidelines in the escalating war of words.

War. Auron shook his head and snorted, sipping his drink. It seemed as if Spira was always going to war, at war, or recovering from war. There was never any peace, never any prosperity. There was never any development into science. There were never any new peace treaties being signed. No, man would always be aggressive toward one another, using whatever means possible to get their way. And, Auron figured, that was the way it would remain until the end of time. Sad though it was, Auron didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak. It was primal.

"Yo, Auron!"

Auron slowly swivelled on the bar stool, and saw a friend of Tidus's stroll in the door. Wakka, also a professional Blitzball player, was currently wearing bright flowered shorts and a button-up white shirt with the buttons undone. His toned and tan chest was visible to Auron, not that the older man cared. Wakka was much cleaner and better-behaved than Tidus, serious with his relationships and moderating what he drank. Which led Auron to wonder how they could remain such good friends. Wakka, however, wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and would often engage Auron in conversation about the conflict. And, the basis of his opinions were not usually correct.

"Wakka." Auron said, nodding. "Want a drink?"

"I'll take what you're having," Wakka replied, sitting down next to the man.

Auron wordlessly shoved the half-empty bottle of Sake at Wakka. "Suit yourself," he said dryly.

Wakka always had whatever Auron was drinking at the time. It was his way of trying something new every time he visited the bar. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and took several gulps of the liquid. It cascaded like a cool waterfall down his throat, and Auron could see his Adam's apple bob up and down in rhythm with Wakka's swallowing. Auron knew he wasn't an alcoholic like Tidus, but watching somebody drink like that made the gruff-looking man slightly uneasy.

"You hear the news?" Wakka piped up. From their prior chats, Auron knew what Wakka was talking about. He nodded. "It's intense, ya? Bevelle's getting really serious," Wakka commented after a few minutes of silent drinking. "Tired of Luca's blasphemy, I guess. Seymour's got every right to be fed up, but . . . military force? That's going a little too far, ya?"

Auron groaned mentally. Here we go again. "The whole thing is pointless and unnecessary," he said scornfully. "It doesn't matter what is right and what's wrong anymore. All that matters is who's right and who's wrong. The principles of everything have been ignored for so long, until the reason why we fight now is totally different from what it started out as. Always a distortion and manipulation of the truth."

"Seymour's right," Wakka cut in. "Luca and the rest of the world should follow the ways of the Temples. It's what's kept us at peace all these years, ya?"

"Peace?" Auron snorted. "How can you do what you do and say something so ignorant? Peace?" He repeated the word, pausing for an incredulous grunt. "Are threats of annihilation peace? Terrorist attacks against the Al Bhed is peace? Religious persecution is peace? Holy wars are peace? Or is peace granted only to those who cower under the correct veil of false security and deception?"

Wakka knew what he was hinting at. "There are millions of people who believe," He argued back. "Are we all ignorant? I'm sorry if life hasn't exactly been a picnic for ya, Auron, but there's no need to call all of us fools, ya? It's damned insulting."

"Hardships in life affect everybody. The world isn't selective about who receives its mercy and who is denied it. Whether I believe in Yevon, Mother Nature or nothing at all, I will eventually die after a short and frivolous existence. There's nothing I can do to change that, and unquestioningly taking the word of a collection of proverbs, stories and fairy tales and mistaking them for fact is a huge and consequential mistake."  
"I don't understand it, Auron," Wakka said. "If you don't believe, if . . . if you have no faith, how can you make it through life?"

"I'm doing just fine," Auron said with such finality that Wakka was stunned into silence. "I cast away faith many years ago because it betrayed me. Because I let it control me. My life has been considerably better since then." Wakka still remained silent, so Auron continued. "And last I checked, Yevon's teachings have been the source of much of our wars in the past. More people have been killed in the name of Yevon than for any other reason." He emphasized this last sentence in particular. "I ask you: what will change, come the future?"

"I . . ." Wakka could not reply at first. Then he said, "I'm not a crystal ball Auron. I dunno what's gonna change. There. Happy?" Auron did not answer, and chose instead to down his shot of sake before pouring himself another. Wakka continued. "Everyone has to have something that they call a faith, ya? Something they believe in. I refuse to believe anything different. So . . . what do you believe in?"

Auron did not respond immediately. "Everything happens for a reason," he finally said. "And if that reason is unknown to me, even after much time spent searching for the answer, then I'm not meant to know. And I'm fine with that. I don't need the reassurance that religion provides. I don't need to know all the answers. And neither does anybody else."

"So you say," Wakka retorted. "But you believe what you want, ya? I just don't understand it."

"Regardless, it is futile arguing," Auron stated. "I will not change your mind, you will not change mine. This discussion is over."

Neither said anything for a few minutes. This night was going much the same as previous nights when Wakka and Auron were in the bar by themselves. Wakka would always try to preach the values of Yevon and spirituality to Auron, who wouldn't hear a word of it. But then again, for Auron, arguing back was like trying to tell his Sake bottle to pour itself. It didn't work, and Wakka would always find some clever way to revert back to Yevon. Auron of course knew that in principle, he was correct. But he didn't feel that it was right or even necessary to rub it in anybody's face. And he certainly didn't like somebody else's opinions shoved down his throat.

Nevertheless, despite their political and religious bickering, Auron and Wakka were still friends. Or, that's what Wakka thought of it. Auron, if he had been a different man with the same feelings, would have called him a 'friend' as well. But to him, it didn't seem the correct term. Acquaintances seemed more appropriate. They got along well enough, but they hadn't known each other for long. Nor, admittedly, had Auron made the effort. Then again, Auron was Auron. Introverted, always second to act, and always getting right to the point.

"I tried talking to Tidus about this whole thing, but he just ignored me," Wakka said glumly.

Auron suddenly became more alert to the conversation at the mention of Tidus's name. "Where is he?" he asked sharply.

Wakka looked up, eyebrows raised. "You live with him, ya?" he said. "Not me. I haven't seen him in three days."

"I haven't seen him in a week," Auron said. "I win." He gave a half-smirk, half sad smile.

"He did tell me . . . that he likes being home when you're not," Wakka said cautiously. "Doesn't want you around, ya? Says you're an asshole."

Auron chuckled. "Yes, I imagine he does think that," he said. "But he's out of control. When I'm there . . . he's in control. I guess he's caught onto the idea that I can't do anything when I'm not there."

"He's probably there right now," Wakka offered. "You should call him, ya? See if he picks up. You got caller ID?" Auron shook his head. "Yeah man, do it. He'll probably think it's one of the chicks he gave your phone number to."

Auron thought for a minute before saying, "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Auron got up from his chair and walked around back to the kitchen. He could see fried food sitting on the grill, stuff Tony had obviously neglected to clean. However, he continued right on past the kitchen and into a little room off in the back, next to the door leading out to the back alley. Inside was a tiny green and grimy folding table cluttered with various papers. Auron sat down in the plastic lawn chair, shuffled a few insurance papers and payroll sheets aside, and unearthed the dirty and grimy phone. He reached for the phone, hesitating for just a split-second, before he picked it up.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.1 ~~~~~**

He was drowning in turmoil.

So many thoughts swam in his head. All fighting, beating, screaming to make sense. He was numb. Numb to everything his brain was trying to tell him. The beer had locked it up and thrown away the key. The drugs had been beating it senseless. The rap music blaring from the stereo system confusing it. And the two girls, wearing nothing on the bed next to him, distracted it. Distracted it from what was awaiting on the other side of that imaginary cell. The monster that was his reality. He could never find his way out of that cell and confront the monster. He was afraid . . . he didn't know how . . . he didn't want to. Not yet.

_riiiiiiiing_

The bass pulsed, making everything in the room vibrate. One flat, never-changing beat. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. In. Out. In. Out. When would the euphoria come join the swimming party in Tidus's head? It hadn't yet. But he kept waiting, hoping, expecting it to arrive. So, he kept thrusting in, out, in, out. In tune to the bass on the stereo. One could almost conduct it . . . one, two, three, four. But the screams, the moans . . . they were off-key. She needed to work on that. Match the beat, come on. Match the beat!

_riiiiiiiing_

He could feel the physical delirium rising to the back of his head, as it always did. Just trickles of it, as though he were hesitant. Tidus knew that once it peaked, his escapade would be over, and he would have to deal with the after-effects. The horrid after-effects. But that is then, this is now. For now, sex drove away the monster, and even booted the side effects of his protectors: liquor, marijuana, and music, and the girls. The beautiful girl, moaning in physical ecstasy . . . a harmony to the melody that Tidus was making when he thrust in and out, over and over again. He had an orchestra going here. The other girl was sitting on the first's stomach, her glistening sex vulnerable to Tidus's pleasures. He thrust his fingers in, out, in, out, matching the motion he made with the other girl. He didn't want the music to become too distorted.

_riiiiiiiing_

The waves of pleasure flowed up to the back of his head with increasing intensity, like water flowing through a riverbed. The tightness he felt made the notes sharper, astringent in some weird way. No . . . the bass was starting to change. It sped up. He compensated. In. Out. In. Out. Faster, faster, faster! Increased speed meant increased feelings of pleasure, and Tidus could feel himself on the verge of climaxing. Ecstasy, to Tidus, was just another drug. He would get high off the feeling, drown his pain, doubt, worry, and fears in nightly sex-fests similar to this one. Anything to escape the pain. If he couldn't drink or smoke them away, he would fuck them away.

_riiiiiiiing_

And there it was. That final, intense, overwhelming feeling of cascading, unsorted and unfathomable emotion that made him convulse and throw his head back. So many things took place in Tidus's mind in those few seconds . . . the monster had been sedated. He could think, breathe, and feel alive without fear. All he felt was the pleasure, the drug of no substance being pumped into his head like the heart pushes blood through the body. It was wonderful! He was, for once, in control. The girl lying on the bed was screaming in pleasure because of what he was doing. He was in charge . . . in charge of her, in charge of his feelings. Pounding into the girl . . . in, out, in, out. It would end now.

_riiiiiiiing_

He gave one final thrust, stronger than any of the others beforehand. He grunted one final time before releasing himself into the girl. And with every wave, the feeling slowly began to disappear, as quickly as it had come. Like a summer breeze lifting the leaves of a tree before moving on, leaving them limp once again . . . before the next breeze would come. His feelings of delirium were leaving. No! Come back! The monster was waking up again. But wait, there were the drugs and alcohol that protected him in the cell still, away from the monster. Yes, that would have to do for now.

The turmoil would continue.

_riiiiiiiing_

_*beep* _

_"You've reached apartment 202. I am unavailable. Leave a message and I will return your call . . ."_

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.1 ~~~~~**_  
_

Auron sighed and roughly replaced the phone in its cradle, neatly replacing all papers as he had found them. When all was as organized as it could be, he put his head in his hands, thoughts of many unpleasant unknowns running through the tortured man's mind. Any ill effect that came from Tidus's behavior was partially his fault. He knew that he was a poor guardian; why Jecht had chosen him to look after his son was beyond Auron's scope of logic. In a way, Auron was angry at his friend for bestowing him with such a responsibility that he was ill-suited for and uncomfortable with. He was never really comfortable around young people, especially teenagers and one as screwed up as Tidus. Jecht was not without many of his own faults as a father. Tidus was one to feel sorry for, having gone from one poor parent to the next. Auron knew that Jecht would want him to be a better role model than he was, despite Tidus's arrogance and rash behavior. But what was Auron to do? There was nothing he could do, nothing he knew how to do. However . . .

. . . he would start small. Auron shoved the papers aside, picked up the phone, and dialed again.

* * *

The first few chapters of this story are more about character introduction than anything else. This story will be a thriller, but only after most of the main characters have been established. This process will take up chapter two as well as most of chapter three. Then, you will begin to see some elements of the main plot coming in. So, I will admit, the story starts off a little slow. However, if you like what you read, I urge and beg you, please read on! I assure you it's worth it.

Anyway, I hope the beginning was okay. Hopefully it piqued your interest.

REMEMBER: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Reviews and/or constructive criticism are much appreciated. Tell me what you think. I am always open to possible suggestions and your opinions.

SirGecko


	2. Mediocrity

Hello, everybody. Yeah, I know it's been awhile since I first started work on this story and posted the first chapter. But, I wanted to ensure top-notch quality for what is quickly becoming my favorite story to work on . . . and sometimes that takes a little time. Anyway, this chapter is roughly the same length as the first, a sort of gesture to make up for the delay in updating. On my computer, it's just under 13 pages. You should be quite satisfied.

In the first chapter, I introduced four of the main characters: Auron, Leblanc, Wakka and Tidus. Here, I bring in two more: Lulu and Paine. When chapter three comes out, the three more will be introduced: Yuna, Braska and Kinoc. Chapter four introduces the final two- Rikku and Seymour. Anyway, just a little tidbit to get you to look forward to upcoming chapters.

Next thing, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

**_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion. _**

Anyway, that's enough of that; I've taken up quite enough of your time. Without further delay, you can start reading this chapter of mine.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Mediocrity**

_  
_Zanarkand Supreme Court.  
18:46.  
Thursday, November 21__

"Madame Foreperson, has the jury reached its verdict?"

The question cut through the dead-silence that had previously hung over the spacious courtroom. Judge Matheson addressed the jury sitting to his left, steely-faced and expressionless as a judge should be. His black robe surrounded his elderly and thin frame, shielding him from the unpleasant temperature in the room. It was rather cold in the room; despite the lateness of the year, the courtroom's air conditioning system was circulating icy air throughout the room.

"We have, Your Honor."

The foreperson stood up, a middle-aged obese lady, probably in her mid-forties. She wore a shawl over her brown cashmere sweater and dark blue jeans. Large silver hoop earrings, so large that they might have been used in a circus for animal tricks, swayed from her ears. Her brown hair, which had blond streaks in it, was done up in a bun and held in place with a couple of number two pencils. On her fingers were rings of all different colors and combinations imaginable.

The bailiff at the judge's side approached the jury. The foreperson held out a slip of paper to the man, upon which was the text that would decide the fate of the man in the defendant's chair. The bailiff walked wordlessly over to the judge, who unfolded the paper and read it silently. Pressing his thick, wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, he read the verdict and passed it back to the bailiff. Matheson sighed so that only he could hear it and began to clean his thick glasses. By the time he was done, the foreperson held the paper in her hand again.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Over at the defendant's side of the room, the defendant and his attorney rose on command. The defendant, a man who personified the word 'weasel', was dressed in a brown wool suit and a cheap tie. Thin glasses were perched on his nose, shoved as far up as possible. A smirk lay plastered over his face, as if he knew that the verdict had already been read in his favor. His lawyer, a short and balding man who was wider than he was tall wore a traditional black suit and tie, pressed pants and shoes so shiny one could see their reflection in them. His blonde sideburns flared out on either side as though he had been recently electrified. What little blonde hair he had left shined with wax, so that the light in the courtroom made his hair glint slightly.

With them, the prosecutor rose as well.

A young woman, in her mid-twenties, with raven-black hair, cleared her throat slightly as she scraped her seat back from under her. She was very pretty, and would have made a good model if law hadn't been her passion. An honors graduate from the most prestigious college in Spira, Bevelle Institute of Law and Medicine, Lulu was, without a doubt, one of the youngest and most gifted lawyers Zanarkand had ever seen. As she rose, she removed her tiny glasses which aided her in reading, and lay them on the table. She wore a white pinstripe blouse and a professional black skirt, one that would be appropriate for a courtroom. High heels, though not very high at all, clicked softly against the wooden floor as she stood. Her shiny black hair was done up in a bun with streaks of it falling out like a curtain. The bun was held in place with glittering oriental chopsticks.

"What say you?"

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. This was the moment she had been preparing for for months. The conviction of Raymond Frenser, a hit man who had been caught in the midst of a contract killing. His employer had yet to be caught; the hit man described himself as one of the best in the business. His arrogance about the way he perfectly did his job had been his downfall; he wasn't necessarily quiet with locals about his job. Though Lulu could only link seven of Zanarkand's recent murders back to Raymond, there were over a dozen other unsolved gunshot murders in the city that she felt certain were committed by Raymond.

"On the charges of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant . . . guilty as charged, on all counts."

Lulu smiled. Another scumbag bites the dust. She stole a glance over at the defendant, who did not seem shaken in the slightest, as the jury finished reading out the statements that would dictate the rest of his life. He stole a glance at Lulu, and nodded to her, smiling grotesquely. The small hairs on the back of Lulu's neck bristled, and an icicle slid down her spine, causing her to shiver slightly. It was unnerving to find a man so devoid of emotion that he smiled when he heard about the killings he committed. Lulu quickly turned her head away and faced the judge.

"On the charges of conspiracy to commit murder, we find the defendant . . . guilty as charged, on all counts."

"On the charge of attempted murder in the first degree, we find the defendant . . . guilty as charged."

Lulu hid her emotions well, but she couldn't quell the surge of pride rising from the core of her chest. Her smile growing somewhat larger, she nodded to nobody in particular. More than two months of strenuous work involving gathering evidence, conducting painful and time-consuming suspect and informant interviews, and countless hours of reviewing had finally paid off. She had successfully rid the streets of a ruthless killer, whose gun guaranteed income. It was her biggest case so far, and was a smashing success for her.

"The accused is to be returned to Maximum Security where he will await sentencing on the 24th of December, at which time we will convene once again. This court is adjourned."

'What a pleasant Christmas Eve that will be.'

Bang. The gavel's clunk prompted everybody in the room to slowly get up and begin to leave, muttering and talking to their counterparts. Lulu wordlessly began gathering her papers and filing them neatly in her top-drawer briefcase. Before she closed it, she removed her cell phone from the bag and flipped it on. Multitasking was, in fact, what she was best at. Closing her briefcase, she dialed a number on her cell at the same time. She walked past the defendant's lawyer, past the throng of people, and went through the beautiful doors leading into and out of the courtroom.

The phone rang several times before Lulu was on her contact's message machine. She didn't feel like leaving a message, so she flipped her cell phone off and returned it to her briefcase. She fished around inside it and pulled a piece of Dentyne Ice from the depths of the briefcase and popped the gum into her mouth. Passing through the metal detector at the front entrance without any hindrance from the guard, she retrieved her overcoat from the pegs that hung near the door. Quickly shrugging it on, Lulu wove through the people going in both directions and passed through the glass double-doors onto the Yevon Avenue.

The busiest and most bustling part of Zanarkand, Yevon Avenue stretched from one end of the mammoth city to the other. It was lined with executive office buildings, strip malls, auto shops, gas stations, restaurants, corner stores, parks . . . you name it, it was found on Yevon Avenue. Currently, Lulu was staring at the Courthouse Lawn, the most famous park in Spira. Though it was winter, it still retained an aura of inexplicable beauty. Perhaps it was the way frost shards hung from the few remaining dead leaves that clung desperately to the tree. On the other hand, maybe it was the fountain, adorned with fresh and untouched snow. Unlike other fountains, this one ran year-round, and the contrasts of the two forms of the same element were captivating. But the design of the park was probably the most noticeable aspect of the park. Hedges formed the boundaries between certain sections of the park, yet there was a clear-cut path straight to the center of it, where the fountain was visible. It faintly resembled a labyrinth.

A sidewalk ran in front of the park, parallel to the street. The sidewalks were always packed with a mixture of tourists and Zanarkand natives; it was always easy to tell which was which. Especially during the winter. The natives were more thinly-dressed, some even being so bold as to wear short-sleeved T-shirts and thin jeans with holes in them. On the other hand, the tourists were decked in the newest and finest winter gear (and in many cases, several layers of it), including coats, shawls, gloves, and earmuffs. Although this year, they weren't overprepared in the slightest. Most were from Bevelle and Luca, having a temperate and tropical climate, respectively, and had a knack for wearing all kinds of winter layers, even during a mild year.

The streetlights shone on the street, the glow from nearby office buildings and shop signs also helping to illuminate Lulu's surroundings. Within the beam of light cast by the streetlights, large, white snowflakes were still falling from the sky. The sky itself was orange, lit by the city lights. The snow was everywhere, nestled upon windshields only to be mercilessly swept away by wiper blades. A homeless man slept near the stairs to the courthouse, his ragged clothing slowly being adorned with flakes. The hedges that lined the courthouse, kept trim in the spring, summer, and fall, now looked like white bricks on twisted legs.

A black man wearing a neon yellow road worker's vest was shoveling the sidewalk, throwing the snow into the hedge. He bobbed his head a little as he worked, earbuds attached to a little MP3 player at his side. He wore what looked to be a knitted hat, an orange one, and there was a little ball sewed to the top. His gloves were large and padded, and he maneuvered the large snow shovel with relative ease. He smiled and waved to the passerby every now and then, but only half even acknowledged the man.

Lulu nodded at him when he smiled at her, and she began to walk down the sidewalk. She was in high heels, but (thankfully) the portion of the sidewalk she had to walk to get to her car had already been shoveled. After a minute, she stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the blaring orange hand to turn into a white stick figure, indicating that she could cross safely. As she waited, the coldness began to nip at her. Looking down at her chest, she scowled and folded her arms over her breasts so nobody would see the two small peaks poking through her blouse.

Her wait, thankfully, was short-lived. She kept her arms crossed as she walked across the street. Though this sidewalk had not been shoveled recently, there was only about two inches of snow on it, and her silver 2004 Toyota Camry was not far away. Hurriedly, Lulu scampered to her door and got in before the traffic light behind her turned green. Rifling through her briefcase for her keys, she quickly found them and started up the car.

It whirred to life instantly, and Lulu haphazardly cranked the heat on full blast, and directed the directional lever to defrost/feet. Her feet were frozen and a thick layer of ice had built up on her windshield since she'd been in court. She tried to get the windshield wipers to work, but they were frozen to the windshield as well. Lulu swore and opened the glove compartment. It was a daunting task to wade through all the trinkets that one accumulated in a glove compartment. Eventually though, Lulu was able to come up with an ice scraper after rifling her way through keys, pens, pencils, car insurance forms, five-dollar sunglasses, lifesaver rolls, pins, and antenna balls.

It took a few minutes for Lulu to successfully knock off most of the snow and some of the ice. But by the time she had climbed back in, buckled her seat belt and put the ice scraper back, the defroster had worked its magic. Once again, Lulu tried the wiper blades. They effortlessly swept away the remaining ice shards, and Lulu quickly, almost crazily turned on her turn signal and veered into Avenue traffic.

After driving the rest of the intersection, she stopped at a red light. Her headlights shone on the passerby who were crossing the crosswalk. She watched as a little girl was splashed by a brown spray of slush as a hummer went barreling through the intersection. Lulu could do nothing, so she ignored it. Taking this brief break into account, she reached over and twiddled with the radio, trying to find the news. Eventually, she tuned the frequency dial to 90.5 and listened as the broadcast delved, once again, into the severity of the approaching winter.

"Right now, we're sitting at the edge of this storm front. It will pass over us overnight and in the early hours of the morning," the weatherman said expertly. "Expect at least 15 inches of snow with this storm, with temperatures falling into the teens tonight. Winter storm warnings are in effect for much of the Zanarkand Province, Mt. Gagazet, as well as the northern Calm Lands, through late tomorrow night.

"We are continuing to monitor this storm, and will be briefing the public with half-hour reports through 10:00 a.m. Zanarkand Standard Time. In addition, there is another storm forming to the north of Zanarkand that we are tracking. More on it later. Fred Swelei, SINN Radio Network."

The light turned green. She continued down Yevon Avenue until coming close to the next intersection. She signaled right and got into the right turn lane. Looking both ways several times, she veered onto 44th Street. Tired of listening to the news (which was only talking about the storm front), she turned off the radio and popped in a CD. The music had a definitive and rhythmic tone; she tapped one finger in tune to the electric guitar and bass blaring through her custom-designed sound system as she pondered the case she had just won.

She made another right turn onto Jefferson Drive. After passing through numerous intersections, she had made it down the street and parallel-parked on the right side of the street in front of her favorite coffee shop, Cuppa Joe's Mojo. She got out of the car quickly, as there was a gap in the flow of traffic. Her exposed feet stepped in a half-inch layer of dark-brown slush that was quickly turning white on the surface wit the rapidly falling snow. She swore and kicked her foot out to shake off the ice. Turning around, she reached over the seat grabbed her small black purse from the dashboard.

Her eye caught the rearview mirror; the light had turned green. She hastily shut the door and locked the car, and then scampered to the sidewalk, getting more snow on her feet in the process. Shaking the snow off her soaked black pantyhose, she opened the door to the coffee shop. The trenchant smell of coffee beans wafted over her nose, and she inhaled the scent with gusto as she clicked over to the counter.

She loved this coffee shop; it was so quaint. The floor was tiled with a forest green color, but over next to the prepared coffee station to her left and behind the tables, the floor was made of wood. The walls, colored to look like stone, added to the uniqueness in atmosphere inside the shop. The ceiling was also painted forest green, and there were shelves of "gourmet" coffee lining the walls to Lulu's right. There were round tables with green tops spread out evenly and neatly to her left, between where she was standing and the prepared coffee station. Black metal chairs circled each. Because it was close to Thanksgiving, the shop's "Thanksgiving Blend" was proudly displayed on the counter. The café was dimly lit, giving it that classic coffee shop atmosphere that the young attorney loved so much.

Lulu wasn't interested in the Thanksgiving Blend. She was a regular here. Leaning against the counter, she rang the bell quietly that was on the counter. Almost immediately, a young man with blond and styled hair came hurrying from the back. Lulu scrutinized him. She had never seen the boy around before, and he was certainly that, a boy. He couldn't be older than seventeen. But that wasn't the issue. The fact that he was new made things much more difficult. If Greg, the veteran espresso guy was here she would be sitting at the table with a perfectly-mixed iced latte in her hand. Knowing new guys, though, they were bound to screw things up.

"Hi, may I help you?" the boy asked.

He had a smooth voice, and a wide smile on his face. The apron around his waist was wrinkle and stain-free and his tan dress pants and black shirt were neatly pressed. Yes, he was new all right. The overview of the job must have been recently given to him. Lulu could remember working at a juice bar while she was in law school and receiving a very similar talk to the one the boy probably just had: be professional, yet friendly. Act approachable, enthusiastic about whatever they say. Perhaps that was the reason she quit after two months.

"Please," Lulu said shortly. "I would like a large double shot iced caramel latte with whipped cream. Heavy on the ice."

"You got it," the boy said, entering the drink combination. "That will be five-ninety-one."

Lulu's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?" she questioned. "I've ordered that very same drink from here for three years. It's never been that much. Have your prices been raised recently?"

"Hold on," the boy said, suddenly looking flustered and punching some buttons on the cash machine. "I'm sorry. I entered the wrong drink combination. It should be–"

"Four-thirty-seven?" Lulu finished, just as that number appeared on the machine.

"Man, you're good," the kid said, sounding amazed.

"No, not good," Lulu said as she passed the boy a five. "Just precise."

The boy understood what Lulu was trying to convey, and looked sheepishly down at the cash drawer as he withdrew her change from the slots. Lulu received the coins and went to sit at her usual table overlooking 45th Street and the clothing store kitty-corner from the coffee shop. Lulu always sat here. And she always ordered a large double shot iced caramel latte with whipped cream. One of her pet peeves was to break routine. If her table was occupied by somebody else, then her coffee was sure to taste lousy, as it broke her nightly routine of unwinding here after a hard day's research and court preparation. It was her only place to unwind.

She sat and waited, crossing her right leg over her left. The seat was cold, and a chill snaked its way up her spine. She heedlessly watched the traffic go by, watching almost every car run the red light on a right turn. A Luca Stop, it was called, for Luca was known for its reckless and crazy drivers. It was a good night; she had put a notorious hit man behind bars. Zanarkand was a better place because of her. Her infamous skills in the courtroom had stopped that demented man from committing any more crimes. And it made her feel great.

She was, admittedly, a little arrogant and brash. But you had to be assertive in order to be a lawyer, she was told. When she was a tax lawyer, she always heard a mantra from one of her co-workers. And it used to drive her nuts because it was so corny. But now, it made perfect sense. It went, "No job for the meek, no case for the weak." That lawyer was still in tax law, slaving away over mild cases like people cheating on their taxes. But in a way, she would always admire that yong man for being so driven.

"Here you go, miss," the boy said, bringing her drink and setting it down on a little napkin on the table.

"Thank you," Lulu said curtly, and the boy walked away.

Pensive, Lulu took a sip of the drink. Impulsively she gagged it back up and spat it back into the cup. She tasted vanilla, something she was deathly allergic too. Though she had never even really liked the taste of vanilla, it caused her to break out into a cold sweat and get a raging temperature. Swearing, and mumbling about how simple her order was, she was just getting up to get her order replaced when she heard her name called.

"Hey Lulu!"

She turned around, and smiled slightly. Walking through the café doors was the defense attorney she had squared off against in the hit man's trial. He was waddling toward her, suit swishing as he walked. His short, stubby little legs carried him over to where the considerably taller Lulu was standing, drink in hand. The man had a booming, jovial voice, a cliche often associated with big men. Lulu sat back down, and the man sat across from her, smiling in a resigned sort of way.

"Congratulations on your sweeping victory today," the man said.

"Thank you," Lulu replied, smiling a little. "Care to have this? I can't drink it."

"Ooh, what is it?" the man asked eagerly, rubbing his porky hands together and reaching for the drink.

"Something with vanilla in it," Lulu said. She gave to the man, who drank richly (she had forgotten to tell him that she had spit back in the drink). "Well Gordon, how do you think it went?" She smirked, and crossed her leg. She loved talking the job.

"You know, I was thinking . . ." Gordon said, taking another sip. ". . . when you repeat something over and over again, whether it be true or false, you tend to start to believe yourself. When I was repeatedly giving evidence on why that man was innocent . . . I kinda started to believe that he truly was innocent . . . in a twisted sort of way."

Lulu's penciled eyebrows rose. "Get outta here," she remarked incredulously. "How could anybody be convinced that the man was in any way innocent?"

"I look back on it now, and I think of myself as crazy for even considering the notion," Gordon sighed, shaking his head. "Anyway, I'm happy you won. What do I care anyway? My monthly paycheck still has five digits."

Lulu laughed lightly, and uncrossed her legs. That's why she liked this man so much. He had a wry sense of humor that made him sound just a little conceited. But to Lulu, that was okay. The world was a maze, a rat race, a fight to the top. And the only way to get to the top was to have the attitude that you need to look out for yourself. She had been in all those self-help classes and classes on leadership since she was in high school. Although there were a few notions mentioned in the classes worth citing, she did not agree with many of their concepts. She made her own way from the beginning.

"Naturally," she smiled. "How much do you make an hour?"

"On average, I work 70 hours a week at 350 Gil an hour," Gordon replied casually, sipping the drink again.

Lulu's eyebrows rose again, doing the mental math. "That's . . . over a million gil a year," she said, whistling. "Damn. I wonder why . . ." She started thoughtfully before trailing off.

"You're not making more than me?" Gordon said, smiling. "Listen, my dear friend. In the real world, talent doesn't count for a whole lot when you're starting out fresh. I know it's a bitch and a real hard truth, but . . ." He stopped, pondering how to continue his thought. Lulu watched with a mild curiosity. "Look. You are a truly gifted young lady. There isn't a time we haven't faced off in a courtroom and you've lost."

"I'm aware of that," Lulu said. "Finish your thought."

"Uh . . . put simply, the more experience you have, the more digits are added to your paycheck. With 99.9 percent of people, the only they can learn certain parts of the job is through experience. I know I learned that way."

"Go on," Lulu urged, leaning in slightly.

"You, falling in the other point-oh-one percent . . ." Gordon didn't need to finish his statement.

"Once again, society caters to the lowest common denominator," Lulu said, hissing and looking out the window.

Snow was falling more heavily now. She watched a snow plow roll through the intersection, red flashing light shining in her face. It piled the snow against the sidewalk; it was a brownish color from all the dirt, oil and gas already on the road. Cars slowed down next to it. They stopped when the light was red. Far off in the distance, Lulu could see three cargo ships sailing gracefully into Zanarkand's port. Steam rose from the solitary smokestack in the back.

"Look at the traffic," Lulu mused. Gordon shifted his immense bulk to follow her gaze. "The movement is so predictable. Stopping when they're told. Playing it safe and going when it's green. All going the direction they're led, following the road signs telling them where to go, stop, turn yield . . . without question."

"Yeah . . ." Gordon said, watching the traffic also.

"It's a lot like people, don't you think?" Lulu asked, tapping her index finger on the table every few seconds. "Blindly following orders and the direction of others. All going one way, afraid to defy the flow lest they get crashed down upon. Afraid to make a wrong turn. And when one does decide not to follow the rules of the road, they get pulled over to be criticized and reprimanded, much like people scold others for disagreeing with them, when they go against the common thought or . . . even the very system that you and I defend on a regular basis." Lulu said.

She was silent for a minute. So was Gordon. Then she continued. "People . . . they're so attached to routine. They do the same thing over and over again, even years down the road. Afraid of change. Afraid of defiance. Afraid to look for flaws in themselves and others and take action to correct them." She paused. "You and I, on the other hand, live for the moment. We expect the unexpected. It's our job. We don't know what case we work on next; that's the beauty of being an attorney. You never know what challenges will come up in life."

Gordon sat motionless, his whistling breathing was the only thing that Lulu could hear. Then, he shook his head. "Heavy," he said. "Where do you find the time to come up with all this?"

"I'm observant," Lulu said. "The main reason I wanted to become a lawyer is to be recognized as an icon for change. I wanted to be recognized as one who goes above the expected and standard mediocrity of our society. I think, more than ever, and in a city such as Zanarkand . . . which is full of mediocrity, rising above the norm is essential."

Gordon whistled. "All I can do is sit back and sing your praises then," he said. Then, he checked his watch. "Shit, look at the time. It's already quarter to midnight. We'd better be hitting the road before the weather gets any worse."

Lulu nodded and they both got up. Gordon had long-finished the iced vanilla latte, and he left a couple of quarters on the table. Both retrieved their overcoats from the backs of their chairs and ushered them on (Lulu could have used Gordon's for a blanket if she was so inclined). Lulu checked her purse to make sure she hadn't left anything behind, and then she followed Gordon out the door, who graciously held it open for her. Cold air blew through the door, chilling her almost instantly.

When she did, in fact, step outside, she almost stopped dead in her tracks because of the temperature. It had plummeted since Lulu had last been outside. The frigid air stabbed at her cheeks and bit at her eyes. Large snowflakes were already beginning to crown themselves on her elegantly-done hair. Gordon's face started to turn rosy. Their cars had already accumulated about an inch of snow, despite the fact that they only remained unused for 45 minutes. Cars raced by Lulu and Gordon, going well over the speed limit in an effort to beat the weather.

Both waited until the traffic light to their right turned red and the racing cars were forced to halt. Lulu and Gordon said their goodnights. After that, Lulu stood there, studying her car. She lived on the outskirts of Zanarkand, up on a hill. Her car was very low to the ground, and did not have four-wheel drive. And the city probably hadn't gotten around to plowing outside the city yet. Lulu decided that she would have to take a taxi.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.2 ~~~~~**

"Where to?"

"Forty-five-eighty-one, Sycamore Road," the girl said promptly, not looking up from her palm pilot.

"Gotcha," the cabbie said, pulling quickly into traffic.

The girl was quite young, in her early twenties. She was dressed like you would find a good-looking young woman – tight hip-hugging dark blue jeans, shiny black semi-dress boots, and a brown sweater, snug to her thin frame. She wore a small gold watch on her right wrist, and small silver earrings on each ear. Her silvery hair was done up in a sort of messy, yet stylish bun, and fell short as a boy's would at the back. A light coating of brownish lipstick rested on her lips, the only object with any significant color on her face, which was incredibly sallow. Her hands, not bony, but quite defined, were also white, other than the black nail polish on her nails. Yet, it both her hands and her face fit her style perfectly.

She punched a few keys on the palm pilot with her stylus before stowing it in her small leather satchel. "How long do you figure this will take?" she asked briskly.

She had a cutting voice, one that would chill even an assertive person. It was straight and to-the-point; her voice made her seem ten times more formidable than she looked. A voice, certainly, that seemed out of place on such a good-looking young woman as she. It meant business. However, it was a malleable voice. It could also sound any number of other ways, depending on where the conversation she had went.

"Oh, about sixteen minutes. Plus or minus a few if shit happens," the cab driver said casually.

"Sixteen . . . really? Not fifteen or twenty?" she inquired, slightly amazed.

"Listen lady. I've been driving a cab in Zanarkand now for fourteen years. After you drive that long, even in this weather, you just know how long a ride's gonna take."

"I see," the girl said. "Well, I guess I'll just have to take your word for it then."

"Hey, what's your name, if I may be so bold?" the cabbie asked nonchalantly.

"Paine," the girl said, reaching her hand out. The cabbie felt behind him for her hand, and shook it.

"Ed will do," the cabbie said pleasantly. "Edward's my full name, but I like Ed. Takes less time, eh?"

Paine smiled. "Yes it does," she said.

"So, you like it here in Zanarkand?" Ed asked, looking in his rearview mirror to stare at Paine.

". . . No," she said flatly. "Too sprawled, too isolated. Over-glorified, you know. What about you? You like it?"

"It's my home," the cabbie sighed. "Sure has changed a lot since I was a little kid on a trike though."

Paine said nothing. She was used to invoking idle small talk in order to pass the time. She went through this same conversation almost every time she got into a taxi. She almost could type it out in a script form, memorize it, and just converse by the script. It would flow perfectly, and the cabbie would think that it was casual, off-the-cuff chitchat every time. Rather sad, Paine knew. But everything was like a mantra, a robotic message spoken that was devoid of any genuine thought or feeling anyway. It was common to hear, "How was your day?", and the person who asked wouldn't even care at all how the other person's day really was. "Pretty good," was the classic response. Equally devoid of emotion.

"Oop, here's a damsel in distress," Ed laughed. "Better rescue her from this awful cold, eh?"

"Shit does happen," Paine muttered under her breath after nodding to Ed.

Ed pulled the cab up in front of the café called Cuppa Joe's Mojo. The woman scampered over to the passenger door facing the sidewalk. Paine scooted over to give the woman room. She was also young, though older than Paine, with raven-black hair, done up in oriental chopsticks. She clutched a top-drawer briefcase and a cell phone. She wore a pinstriped blouse under her coat and a black skirt, with matching high heels. Yes, Paine concluded mentally, looking the woman up and down, she was certainly a lawyer.

The woman got in and quickly slammed the door. "Seventy-eight-sixty-seven, Huckleberry Park Drive," she said without waiting to be asked where she wanted to go. Ed nodded, and veered out into traffic again, running the red light to make up for the lost time.

Paine turned to the woman, and watched as she dialed a number on her cell phone. "Having a good night?" she asked.

"Oh, not so bad. You?" The woman replied. Paine rocked her head from side to side in response.

"Miss, I'm going to have to let this young lady off first, her drop's on the way to your place," Ed said, addressing the older woman behind the passenger seat. She nodded.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Paine sporadically checked her watch to make sure she wasn't late for her appointment. When she wasn't checking her watch, she was listening to the incessant beeping noises made by the woman next to her pressing buttons on her cell phone. She must have been checking her messages, because, every now and then, she would press the phone to her ear. Eventually, though, Paine reached her stop at four minutes to midnight.

"Thanks," she replied, paying the cabbie with a fifty and getting out before he could protest that she had given him too much. She always tipped generously; she was supplied with bountiful amounts of money in her satchel.

The house she pulled up in front of was barely even deserving of the name. From the momentary glow of the taxi's headlights, she could see snow-covered trash, bottles, garbage cans, old refrigerators and rusty engine parts everywhere. The house's white paint was peeling, the windows were covered in grime, and all metal was coated with rust. If her contact hadn't assured her that this was the right address, she would have thought that this was the wrong house. The only thing that could make this place look any worse was a lack of snow. But fortunately, there was plenty of that.

She slowly walked down the cracked sidewalk path leading up to the faded and peeling door. Peering through the peephole, she could see a pulsating glow coming from the left. Lights of different colors flashed on the walls. A TV was on. That was good; it usually meant the person was home. She beat on the door with her fist several times. A raspy voice groaned from inside the recesses of the house, and she could hear shuffling footsteps coming toward the door. As they approached, Paine shrugged off the coat she had put on when she stepped out of the cab.

The door opened, and Paine could see a shabby man standing in the doorway. She couldn't tell whether he was really tired, really drunk, or both. She surmised the former, however; the man had brownish stains all over his already dirty and grimy white undershirt. He wore faded jean shorts and a pair of worn and tattered sandals. A pipe was clenched in his mouth, where most of his teeth were missing. Paine wrinkled her nose, but quickly sniffed and put on a fake smile.

"Frank, is it? I hear your birthday is in . . . well, one minute." She said in a cold voice. "I have been instructed to deliver a gift from some former associates."

_One-half second later_

BLAM. The flash from the end of Paine's silver pistol blended in well with the deafening bang it made. It rattled her ears, as it always did. The adrenaline in Paine's chest surged as the first shot was fired. It was like no other feeling she had experienced, or would experience, in her life. The way her index finger clasped the cold and glinting trigger of the gun. One pull meant excruciating pain and possible death. Three pulls meant certain and instantaneous death.

Before the old man could even blink, Paine had withdrawn the gun from the inside pocket of her overcoat, pointed it at his sternum, and fired one piercing bullet into his chest. He was a bleeder, she could see. As the round pierced his dry skin, spatter flew all over his already soaked shirt. A red stain spread rapidly from the hole, like a poisonous infection. By this time, he had blinked once, maybe twice. Paine wasn't paying attention.

_One-quarter second later_

BLAM. Paine instantly adjusted her arm just slightly, and fired a second round into the man's chest. The gun's barrel flashed once again as the bullet was fired. Just barely above the first shot, this one was right on target as well. It punctured the heart, and more blood seeped through the man's shirt. By this time, he was starting to fall back. His eyes had opened wide in shock, and his mouth was open in a silent scream. He couldn't even clutch his chest; his arm hadn't reacted still. It was still too shocking. Only Paine could see a second pool of blood spreading from the freshly made hole.

Her red eyes were alight with fiery concentration as she gripped the pistol with both hands. Her mouth was pursed. Her eye was aligned with the target. Her stance was rigid, knees locked and arms extended fully out in front of her. The gun accurately followed the direction of her left hand, her dominant hand. Her trigger hand. And now, as the man was falling even further back, she let her arm float up, aligning her third and final shot.

_One-half second later_

BLAM. The third shot was released from the gun. Another flash-bang. Three out of three, Paine made sure this one went square into the middle of the man's forehead. Unlike the shots to the chest, though, this one didn't bleed that much. A small trickle of blood began to flow out of the hole made by the bullet. The man would be eased of his suffering now. He crashed to the ground, legs bent grotesquely under his thin frame, arms splayed out around him. Blood began to seep out from behind his head and chest and spread ever so slowly across the hardwood floor. He was dead before he even touched the ground.

Paine leaned over the man, holding her breath, and gently closed his eyelids. She studied the man closely. He probably wasn't that big a player, a man maybe who was once heavily into the trade but cleaned up. He probably had essential information that wasn't healthy passed around. She sighed, and stuck the gun back into her coat.

And that was that.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.2 ~~~~~**

Back behind her, Lulu could hear three distant pops.

"Those kids, huh?" The cabbie said, chuckling. "Can't wait to light off their fireworks."

"Yeah, I guess so," Lulu said, looking back behind her. She stared intently at the street from where they had just dropped off the other girl.

What fireworks?

* * *

Well, there you have it. I hope you all enjoyed it.

NOTE: In case you are curious, and just because, be sure to check my bio for regular updates. Included inside you will find a progress chart that displays my current progress on the next chapter (in this case, three), as well as other miscellaneous crap that may be of some importance. It's updated quite regularly, so you will be fairly well-informed of the status of this story.

Anyway, I'm signing out for now. I will see you later, with chapter three in hand.

SirGecko


	3. Pomp and Circumstance

Hello again, everybody. I know it's been awhile since I updated, but once again, I wanted to ensure as good of quality as possible on this chapter. As an added bonus for waiting for so long, this chapter turns out to be one of the longest I have ever written: 17 1/2 pages. So, you should have quite a bit of food for thought.

This chapter introduces Yuna, Kinoc, and Braska. Tidus also makes a second appearance. In addition, the story starts to gather a definitive plotline while still musing over the questions of everyday life and society. Yuna's part is pretty extensive, covering about 3/4 of the chpater. But I assure you, it's well worth the read for the last quarter.

Two more things and we'll move on to the chapter:

a: Disclaimer. I haven't done one of these, so I just thought I'd include one here for legality purposes. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

b. Warning. **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

That pretty much covers it. Now, venture on and enjoy chpater three.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Pomp and Circumstance  


* * *

**

_  
_Zanarkand, Governor's Mansion.  
07:27.  
Friday, November 22.__

Zanarkand lay bathed in a thick, white blanket of snow on this frigid November day. The weather had finally relented slightly, bearing only overcast clouds for the time being. It was still dark out, as the city was so far north. This time of year, the sun wasn't out for more than five hours in a day. In December, it was about four hours. For people who preferred darkness, this was paradise. It also provided for a nice aerial picture of the city, one that appeared on many postcards mailed away to warmer, sunnier cities like Luca. The city lights of Zanarkand lit up the snow so that the entire landscape was bespeckled with light like a Christmas tree.

In the far Eastern outreaches of the city, in the Governor's Mansion, a young woman was just waking up. She always woke up three minutes before her alarm was to go off; it never failed. The color of the pink satin of her four-poster bed greeted her bicolored eyes as they slowly fluttered open. She moaned softly and rolled over onto her side, punching the snooze button on the alarm clock that was currently sitting dormant on her night-stand. Pulling the silk nightgown over her frame, as it had slipped askew during the night, she closed her eyes again, mulling over the dream she had just had. She would dream every night, not the same dream though. Perhaps it was her brain's way of digesting the excess of what she took in every day.

It was not easy being the daughter of Zanarkand's mayor.

"Miss Yuna, are you asleep still?"

Yuna groaned and rolled over again so that she was facing away from the doors. If it wasn't the alarm clock that woke her up, it was her caretaker. Wanting to get warmer and not wanting to get up just yet, she pulled the soft winter blankets over her head. She felt herself warming up, instantly drifting off in the cozy confines of her ready-made cove. The man knocked. Yuna groaned again, jolted back from the sleepy oblivion that had her in its grasp, and threw the covers off herself. She slowly sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. She blinked rapidly and squinted so that her eyes could adjust.

The mirror in front of her bed reflected a 19-year-old girl, beautiful even with disheveled hair and only a pink wrinkled silk nightgown. Her hair, mahogany in color and just past shoulder length, lay askew atop her head. A string of beads ran down one lock of hair off to her right, dangling next to her ear. A small shapely nose was centered on her full and youthful face, and her mouth bore a natural smile, small, yet pleasant enough. The silk nightgown she wore was once again uneven on her skinny frame, and one of the straps had slid off her shoulder. However, the thing that drew peoples' attention when it came to Yuna were her eyes. One cyan, the other emerald, it was this difference that made Yuna such a sight among the common folk, along with other things, such as her status.

Her caretaker knocked again and entered the spacious room, which was the size of a small house. It catered to the simple atmospheric tastes of a girl. The carpet was navy-blue and the walls were a violet color. An ornate dresser lay off to the right side of Yuna's four-poster bed; it held all of Yuna's casual clothes, worn only inside the Governor's Mansion. Opposite the dresser was a huge closet containing different styles of dresswear, most of them skirts or dresses for use in all public occasions and appearances. Several pictures hung symmetrically on the walls, including one of her and her father receiving the symbolic key to Zanarkand, as well as she and her father in a group photograph with other world leaders– Seymour, Shelinda, and Rin, to name a few. Windows were spaced along the east and south walls at regular intervals, allowing ample amounts of sunlight to bathe the room. Although during the winter, little sunlight penetrated the walls in the first place.

"Maechen, it's too early to be up on a Friday," Yuna mumbled tiredly through her hands as she rubbed her eyes again.

"Now now, my lady must be ready to accommodate her and the Master's busy schedule," the old scholar said gently. "It is a busy day today."

"When is it not a busy day?" Yuna replied tiredly. "And how many times do I have to remind you to call me Yuna?" she added with false exasperation, smiling as she hopped lightly out of bed and pulled the shoulder strap of her nightgown back to its proper place. "I never liked formalities."

"My lady, you'll forgive me. I am old and I have a very, very short-term memory," Maechen said, his eyes twinkling.

Yuna detected the humor in her caretaker's voice and laughed lightly. "Of course," she said. "I have to shower, though. There's no way I can go like this, even if it's just to a school."

"There's little time, miss," Maechen said. "I wanted to let you sleep in as long as possible."

Yuna groaned in exasperation. "All right, all right. I still have to get dressed. Please excuse me."

"Of course," Maechen bowed slightly and turned his back on her, exiting the room.

Yuna sighed as she shed her nightgown. Already her mind, always musing, was at work. And this time, she was thinking about the father whom she rarely saw. Her father was a wise man, wise even beyond his years. He would spend countless hours warning Yuna of the game of politics. And as the years wore on and she grew mature and more experienced in the game, she realized it was just that: a game. A game of risk, where others played your cards and bet your money for you, almost as if it were a convenience. Sometimes your reputation was even cast into the pot. Who would come away with it? What would Yuna lose? What would she gain? Because politics was often like gambling: few people gain fortune, and most lose much, if not everything. Yuna had already begun to feel the effects of politics and the way the media interpreted it.

Ah the media. Perhaps the greatest weapon that politics could wield. Both were constantly in bed with each other, while not afraid to stab one another in the back. Feuding couples, Yuna laughed to herself. Tabloids were the worst. Already, Zanarkand's most popular tabloid, the Limelight, claimed to have nude photos of her (coincidentally, the issue came out on Yuna's 18th birthday). Of course, Rikku had showed her the images. Yuna laughed it off; the girl's image in the pictures was totally different from that of her own figure. The breasts were larger, for one. Yuna's were fairly decent size, but they were also natural, unlike those of many celebrities.

Yuna knew that any man would be extremely gifted to see her nude. For being a political icon, she sure had a body most guys, and girls for that matter, would dream over. However, Yuna didn't care much for her looks as far as personal taste was concerned. Of course, her dress was regulated in public, so she was always seen in public displayed in the finest. It was this, perhaps, that made her so appealing to the media and to men. She did have the luxury of immense wealth, and as such, she could afford to buy the best of everything.

She dressed slowly, taking several minutes to decide what she was going to wear that day. She remembered now– she had a public appearance at a Zanarkand high school in the impoverished area of the city, as part of her father's "War on Poverty." Her goal was to achieve understanding between the rich and powerful people and the poor and desperate people. It was true that the high school was noted for its attraction to troublemakers and those in conflict with the law, traits often associated with the economically depressed. Yuna, in truth, didn't know how her visit was going to help anything along.

Yuna finished getting dressed. She had decided upon a black cashmere sweater and a glittering black skirt with a slit down the back and fashionable black high heels with crisscrossing straps. She looked with disgust at her pantyhose; she hated them so much. Walking over to her bureau, she applied a thin coating of pale red lipstick and small amounts of other facial makeup. There was a small jewelry drawer on the bureau, one that her mother used to own. She tugged lightly on it and withdrew two silver earrings set with obsidian that matched her other dresswear. Hooking them into her ears, she finally applied a quick spray of perfume to her sweater that smelled sweetly of lavender. She still used her mother's atomizer. It was all she had to remember her by, anyway.

Maechen was waiting for her at the end of the hallway. Yuna softly opened one of the doors that led into and out of her room and began to walk down the carpeted hallway. The carpet was coffee brown and effectively muffled the click her high heels would ordinarily make. The hallway was lined with doors on either side of her, each leading into other smaller stay-rooms (the size of a large living room). Right outside the door was a little nightstand with vase containing a rose on it, just big enough for a room service tray. Small dome lights lined with crystal beads were attached to the ceiling, spaced out about every twenty feet. The hall smelled of the roses, a seductive and cozy smell that went well with its surroundings.

"You look quite fashionable today, my lady," Maechen commented.

"Thank you," Yuna said, smiling. "Is my car waiting?"

"Yes, it is," Maechen nodded, smiling as they began to walk through the Governor's Mansion. "I even took the liberty of turning on the defroster. It will be nice and warm in there for you."

"I . . . that's always a good thing," Yuna said. "Thank you."

The rest of their walk was flanked by silence. It took them several minutes to meander their way through the hallways and down the staircases of the mansion before they were at the huge front doors of the place. Yuna's car, a Mercedes-Benz, was sitting right in front of the marble steps that led to the driveway. It was a recent gift from her father, who loved showering his only daughter with the best that he could afford. Yuna appreciated it very much, but was more down-to-earth than her father. She didn't need all the fancy things that were stereotypical of rich girls to have, for she always believed that money couldn't buy happiness.

"Are you sure we can drive my car today?" Yuna said warily. "There's twenty inches of snow on the ground!"

"All plowed, my dear," Maechen said. "The roads have been sprayed with gravel as well. We're in good shape." Yuna nodded. "Come. I'll explain your daily regimen on the way."

Yuna sighed and got into the car. Weren't there more sacrifices made when you were rich and powerful than if you were middle-class? She always wondered. Sure, she had the wealth, the luxury and respect from many, but there was a very basic principle missing from her life. She wanted the freedom to plan her day, to decide when she was going to do everything, or absolutely nothing. She didn't like people dictating her life for her, and she never quite understood herself when she was just that– herself. Of course, she knew it wasn't Maechen's fault; he was just doing what he was told by Braska, her father. He was a kind man, but didn't understand Yuna's indifference to the way things should have been with regards to order and planning. They had had many fights about it.

"All right then, Miss Yuna," Maechen said as they pulled out of the driveway. "We arrive at the school at eight o-clock, where you'll be greeted by the principal and escorted to breakfast. Afterward, the principal will usher you on a tour of the school with sit-ins in some of the classrooms. Then, he'll answer any questions you might have before we head back to your father with your report."

"That's it?" Yuna said. "Wow. This shouldn't take very long then. A few hours?"

"At most, yes," Maechen said. "A conservative estimate at best though. It all depends on security." Yuna sighed, and Maechen abruptly changed the subject. "You don't mind too terribly if I listen to the radio, do you, my lady?" Maechen asked, hitting the interstate.

"Of course not," Yuna said. "Go right ahead."

Yuna didn't even bother to pay attention to the radio as Maechen flipped the tuning dial to the morning talk show. In fact, Yuna wasn't planning on saying another word on this fifteen-minute car ride over Zanarkand's labyrinth of bridges. She felt defeated. The principal and the students no doubt didn't care that she was visiting for the same reason that she did. What difference would she make? She held no official title in Zanarkand's government; she was merely the mayor's daughter. She only lived with her father because it was their mutual choice. Her appearance wouldn't have any impact on anybody.

_ "No, I disagree with that statement, and here's why . . ."_

They had reached the first major bridge that they were going to cross, the one that connected the east side of Zanarkand with the west side. The ocean lay below them, covered in a thin blanker of snow. Yuna always loved staring at the ocean when it was covered with snow. This time however, the pollutants had acted fast; the snow was already beginning to discolor. Yuna sighed. What difference did anything make anymore? The industry had always had the power to stop the environmental ordinances pushed by her father. The fishing industry was in shambles; most of their fish had to be imported from Luca, a city that had much better ordinances in place.

_"The situation is not hopeless, how could you say that?"_

There were so many questions running through Yuna's mind. Questions that had surfaced multiple times, questions to which very few solutions presented themselves. Somebody had once told her that 'a politician's only purpose is as a figurehead to hide the real power in civilized areas: money'. It seemed as though her purpose was known only to those higher on the chain of command. The days were few and far between where she had some time to herself with no planned visits such as this. Where did the control to her life go?

"More power needs to come to the hands of the people, not those at the top!"

Perhaps she needed to get more involved with her dad's job. The world of politics truly was interesting, but not so much to Yuna as it was frightening. The mayor that Braska had succeeded was involved in a major sex scandal that Braska was certain was a fabricated allegation. When he showed Yuna the evidence to prove it, she had become truly frightened for her father, and for herself. She wanted to lie low, to stay away from the cameras and the general public. However, Braska pushed her out of her comfort zone on numerous occasions, such as this one. She was even told that school body guards would be escorting her through the campus.

_"It's a frightening reality, that it is."_

Yuna was an excellent actor. Despite all her insecurities underneath, she was a great person in general. She knew that the public sympathized with her more than her father, probably because she wasn't the one making decisions. The things that were of her true nature though– kindness, gentleness, generosity, and open-mindedness were nonetheless noticed and appreciated by the public. Did she necessarily feel confident, assertive, or capable of debate? Certainly not. Unfortunately for her, to be a politician in the confusing and inimical political world, those three things were essential. She knew that people would take advantage of her if they hadn't already. But, at this point, there wasn't much she could do about it.

_"Remember that nobody's perfect, John. Mayor Braska's no doubt doing the best he can."_

"Just think, these people get paid to argue," Maechen snorted. "What does it amount to, hm? Any ideas, miss Yuna?"

"I only heard snippets of the conversation, Maechen," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Quite all right. We'll be at the school in a few more minutes, so any productive discussion we might have had on the matter would be cut rudely short," he replied.

For some reason, the few remaining minutes went by swiftly. Soon, the car was pulling into the parking lot of the school where several adults stood under the balcony shading the front door, no doubt there to welcome her. A few of the men were dressed in black, probably there to ensure her security. Students were milling around them, getting off the buses that had just begun to arrive behind Yuna's car and entering the double doors into the school.

It was a very shabby looking place, the sidewalks littered with trash and graffiti sprayed on all the benches nearby, as well as the school sign, which was constructed of brick and concrete. What had once been a unique placard displaying the school mascot was now a disorderly web of blue, orange, pink, and black spray paint. There were even a few spray marks on the side of the building. A can of paint was resting nearby so the marks could be painted over. Garbage cans overflowed with trash and cigarette trays were loaded with butts. It was as if the school promoted smoking, which was illegal in Zanarkand. The paint was cracked and peeling; the whole facade of the building looked about ready to crumble.

Yuna groaned inwardly as she saw the three local news vans lined up on the opposite side of the curb, right where the fire lane was. She figured that besides her visit, the only kind of media attention that this school received was that of the short end of the stick. She had heard stories about this place from the "unbiased" media: gangs, drugs, prostitution. Hopefully she could offer this place some leniency. Yuna knew that any stories of an unbiased media were tales of myth and legend. She knew full well from experience that the media already had its mind made up before they even stuffed the mikes in her face.

"I wager it would be a good idea for you to wait until the students have finished arriving before you exit the car," Maechen advised. "Just a precaution, my lady. Would you not agree?"

"I suppose," Yuna said, observing the students carefully. They were, after all, who she was trying to learn about. "Moreover, I want to avoid the media as long as possible."

"We can always wave them off, miss," Maechen said dismissively. "It's not like you have to say anything."

"No . . . but I should," Yuna said. "I'm Zanarkand's shining star, remember?" She said this in a half-sarcastic, half-depressed sort of voice.

"Perhaps you're right, Lady Yuna," Maechen said softly. "Perhaps you're right."

The students had disappeared inside the building, and the only people who remained outside were who Yuna assumed to be the school officials, as well as the media. Maechen ushered Yuna out of the car, and like moths to a porch light, the media came buzzing over. Mikes, camcorders, cassette players, and cameras were all in hand and ready to capture Yuna's every breath, sniff and sneeze. She was certainly used to it by now, but she wished that, for once, she could go somewhere without being interrogated about it.

Yuna was, on the other hand, a very gifted public speaker. She had a soothing voice, for one. It helped assure confidence and serenity; it was a great people-pleaser. People would smile and wave on the rare occasion she went out walking in public. She was also very charismatic, and knew how to phrase something so that it sounded appealing. She was also known for always speaking the truth. Politics was full of lies, and she wanted to not succumb to the way of the game. She wanted to be believed. She wanted people to say "Oh yes, I can trust her" when they heard her name. She wanted to help the people she represented to the fullest of her abilities.

"Miss Yuna! Miss Yuna! Can we get a statement from you, please?"

"Lady Yuna, is it true that your father sent you here? Are you thinking about applying for schooling?"

"How long are you staying here?"

"Yuna, my lady, out of all the schools in Zanarkand, what interests you about this one?"

It was this last question that caught Yuna's attention. For once, it was an intelligent question, a question that could provide some sort of understanding for people. It was an interesting question also in the fact that she didn't have an answer for it beyond her father sending her here. A curiosity for the place had been welling up inside her ever since she arrived in the parking lot. She knew there was something she wanted to find out, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Fortunately, she knew how to think on her feet very well when it came to public speaking.

Yuna held up her hand and the reporters quieted, thrusting their microphones and tape recorders at her like torches. "A good question," Yuna said. "Many people would look at a school like this and say that it is a dangerous place, a violent and unpredictable place, a place that their children would do best to avoid at all costs. And . . . they may be right." Yuna paused. She saw a tall, bald man that had been standing under the overhand shift uneasily out of the corner of her eye.

'He must be the principal,' she thought to herself.

"However, they might also be wrong," Yuna said. "That's why I'm here. More often than not, fear is the result of a lack of understanding. We can't really say for sure why we're afraid of a place, for we never know whether or not it's true until we experience it ourselves. So to answer your question, sir," she addressed the reporter, "what interests me is the desire to understand the places we would rather shun or avoid. There are good people at this school. I know this. I know it and I haven't even set foot through those doors." Yuna looked at the reporters, making sure they didn't forget what she said. "Today, I'm going to prove to you and the rest of this city that this is true."

'Well-said, as always, My Lady,' Maechen thought. "Excuse us, but we have to go," he cut in. "Miss Yuna is almost late for her appointment."

With the reporters waved off, the tall man she had seen earlier approached and held out his hand. "I thank you for the gracious words, My Lady," he said. "My name's Michael Thompson. I'm the school superintendent."

"Yuna, just Yuna," she said, smiling and shaking his hand. "Please call me by that, too. Formalities make me uncomfortable."

"Certainly, Yuna," he said. "Come. I'm sure you wish to leave as soon as possible, so we'll make sure none of your time's wasted. Do you know what our plan for you is?"

"Yes," Yuna said, nodding as they walked through the doors. "That is, if you mean the schedule."

"Exactly," Michael responded. "Breakfast is waiting for you in the cafeteria. The best we have to offer."

"Why thank you," Yuna smiled, following Michael. "Maechen, please wait in the car, and take these bodyguards with you." Both Michael and Maechen opened their mouths in protest, but Yuna cut them off. "For once, let me take care of myself. Please leave me and Mr. Thompson in peace.

Maechen muttered apologies "As you wish, my lady," he said. He turned and walked quickly away, the bodyguards in tow.

"Oh, one thing: if you would take this nametag, I would appreciate it," he said. "The auditors are here today, and for the sake of everyone here, I'm not taking any chances."

"I understand," Yuna replied, taking the tag from him and clipping it to the strap of her dress.

"I do appreciate it," Michael replied. "Well, let's begin, then."

Yuna felt increasingly awkward as she began to walk down the long hallways and she was beginning to second-guess herself. There were a few students still scrambling to find binders and notebooks, but they stopped as she passed. The guys whistled, but ceased quickly when Michael glared at them and pointed to a door, indicating that they were to go to class immediately. The hallways were tiled faded blue and dirty white. The walls were white, with cobwebs, dirt, and grime building up in the corners. The lockers were gray and had numerous dents, scratches and holes, visible only on the parts that weren't covered by stickers and pictures of people and phrases. Combination locks were on every locker. Flickering flourescent lights lined the hall before they made a right turn.

The rest of the walk was much the same. A rusted drinking fountain here, an overflowing garbage can there. The place looked almost abandoned. A vending machine in surprisingly good shape flashed Sobe beverages at her. The light behind it flickered. And as she continued walking, she could smell food being prepared. The smell quelled her uneasiness slightly. Pancakes, she thought to herself. Maple syrup with them. Oh, and sausage. Pancakes and sausage. She began to actually look forward to sitting down and talking with the superintendent.

A few minutes later, both were seated at a small round table, trays of food in front of them. As Yuna had surmised, there were indeed pancakes and sausage resting in front of her, steam tracing random patterns through the air before it disappeared. She also had hashbrowns and a tall glass of orange juice. She dug in quickly. Breakfast was indeed the most important meal of the day, and if Yuna missed it, her whole body would begin to protest. However, with this meal, Yuna soon realized that she could do without breakfast today. The food tasted awful, even the hashbrowns. She politely laid her fork and knife down at the plate's sides as she had been taught, and instead picked up her orange juice and took a long sip to wash away the taste.

"Well, how is it?" Michael asked, smiling warmly. "Is it tasty?"

Yuna thought fast. "Why yes, it is," she lied. "I guess I was just more full than I thought I was. I had a bagel before I arrived today."

"I think it's terrible too," Michael said. Yuna looked down, turning red with embarrassment. She hadn't expected this man to see through her. She was normally a very good liar. "There's no need to be ashamed Yuna," Michael said. "I'm flattered by your courtesy. You almost had me fooled for a minute." Yuna looked up, face still red. "I said this was the best we had to offer, and I was entirely truthful in saying that."

"You mean . . . well . . ." Yuna said, not quite sure how to phrase her question.

"We are required by Zanarkand law to provide hot breakfasts and lunches if our school's student count exceeds three hundred," Michael explained. "With the private schools, which also fall under this law, that's not even an issue. However, we have twenty-two hundred students. The city gives us a five-dollar-per-student limit per meal on what we can serve them. We serve breakfast only now; we used to serve lunch as well, but we had to cut that. Even still, with $11,000 on meals spent per day and 180 days in a school year, Miss Yuna, well . . . you do the math."

"In short, your meal costs alone are huge," Yuna said, nodding.

"Precisely. And that's with the bare minimum, what you just tasted. In addition, we have to pay for teachers, bus drivers, custodians, electricity, water, facilities, textbooks, paper, and a ton of other things. Right now, we just don't have the money."

"Why?" Yuna asked. "Zanarkand gives all the public schools in its jurisdiction the appropriate funds for everyday school functions and activities, don't they?"

"That's what the system would have you believe," Michael said evenly. "As always, however, you have to read the fine print. The schools in Zanarkand's districts are funded depending on student performance and behavior. The better the students behave and the better their test scores are, the more money that is allotted to them by the city budget. Since we have the lowest ratings in both aspects, we get the table scraps so to speak."

"I know I'm not an expert in financial affairs, though you may think I am," Yuna started, speaking slowly. "but . . . shouldn't schools that have the lowest scores get more money? You know, to help them improve?"

"In a perfect world," Michael sighed. "We've had to really pinch pennies in recent months, Yuna. The school is falling into disrepair. We simply don't have the funds to do anything except for the absolutely necessary: provide a meal, pay the staff, educate, keep one sports program. That's pretty much it."

Yuna nodded as he talked. She withdrew a small notebook as well as a pen from the purse she carried and began to take a few notes down to take back to her father. As she wrote, she was processing everything she had been told. This was probably a best-case scenario for those who were economically depressed. How hard was it for the families? Did they even care? There was nobody to look out for these people. The system had kicked up the dust in their face and sped off, the rich and powerful in tow. Like any deserted people, they would fight over the few resources they had until they were worse off than they were at their starting point.

"I'm curious: you speak of sports as if it were a necessity. Couldn't you trim your sports budget if you had to?" Yuna asked as she wrote.

Michael leaned in, his voice slightly harder than it had been. "I could, but I won't." Yuna looked puzzled. "You see, sometimes a sport is all a few of these kids have. It keeps them out of more trouble. It keeps the blood pumping through the veins, it keeps them away from the traumas that await them elsewhere." Michael paused. "I'm going to be frank with you, Yuna. I shouldn't have to cut the sports programs, the art programs, the music programs, the after-school programs. I shouldn't have to deny my kids of a second meal. I shouldn't have to let this school rot and decay like an old house."

"Absolutely not," Yuna said, jotting down some more thoughts. "You shouldn't have to. I'll be sure to talk to my father about this. What else would you like me to do?"

Michael's demeanor softened back to its previous state, and he smiled. "Start small, Yuna. All I would even dare ask you to do is just to keep us in mind, and be aware of our plight and the plight of these kids. Just don't let the system forget them." Michael sighed. "Well, I'll escort you to a classroom of your choosing now. You'll be safe inside the room; the teachers there have an adequate grip on things. Shall we?"  
Yuna nodded, and she rose. Michael followed her motions. "Doesn't Tidus go to school here? The star relief player for the Zanarkand Abes?"

"As a matter of fact, he does," Michael said, brightening. "He really is a good player and a nice kid, and he may well be a star to go down in this city's history. As long as he doesn't throw it all away as a result of his other bad habits, it certainly would be an inspiration for other kids in this area and throughout the rest of the city. I try to tell him that, but he doesn't understand. He's quite the ladies' man, too."

"Where is he right now?" Yuna asked, intending to meet him.

"Well, he has Spiran History right now," Michael said. "We can go there if you like." Yuna nodded. With that, they started off again.

The images greeting her eyes were, in a way, haunting. Silence fell over Michael and Yuna as she began to walk back down the dingy halls of the school. There were no signs of life in the school whatsoever. There was no noise but the sounds of her's and Michael's own footsteps. The hallways were dark, and the place was covered with dust and cobwebs. It looked as though the school had been abandoned for years. She shivered. It was cold in this place too. The fact that she hadn't brought a shawl with her didn't help either, and she rubbed her arms for warmth.

The walk lasted several minutes as she and the superintendent traversed the hallways, staircases and passages of the school up to the classroom. It really was quite a workout; she didn't halfway know how anybody could make it to their classes on time. The classroom was on the third floor of the three-story school, on the far end of the hallway. The door was old; the wood was splintered and a tattered poster hung on it that said "Power is Knowledge." Michael stepped forward and opened the door.

Heads turned at the sound of the door opening, and the teacher interrupted his lecture for the arrival of the two guests. Only a few students recognized who the girl was, for surprise was etched in their faces and their outbursts. The others simply thought she was a new girl, though they had never quite seen one dressed this nicely. The disturbances were quickly resolved when the students saw the principal with Yuna, and those who were standing sat back down. They continued to stare. Yuna smiled and clasped her hands in front of her.

"Pardon the interruption," Michael said, "but we have a guest. Miss Yuna, the mayor's daughter, will be sitting in on your lesson for the remainder of the class period. I trust that you'll treat her with utmost respect in whatever questions she may ask you." He turned to a boy with spiky blond hair, slumped in his chair in the back row, snoring softly. "Mister Tidus, may I see you for a second?"

Naturally, Yuna's gaze followed Michael's. Her bicolored eyes rested on a boy who was about nineteen, she would guess. His hair was gelled into randomly-patterned spikes. The emblem of the Zanarkand Abes was engraved onto two small earrings that he wore. He wore a gray sweatshirt, not baggy, but enough to hug his frame. His jeans were quite average as well, and he wore gray skater shoes. As he turned to face the two, she could see the face. A nice tan, and a well-defined face. Beautiful azure eyes, slightly blurry with tiredness. His face was smooth, lacking facial hair. Upon further inspection, Yuna noted that he had earbuds in, and she could see the white cords snaking their way down his sweatshirt. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the way he was looking at the superintendent as if no wrong had been done.

Had Yuna not been here as a diplomat, she would have thought he was gorgeous. She could certainly see where Michael would be correct in saying that he was a ladies' man. Yuna could infer that Tidus, what with his excellent looks and his even better talents at the game of blitzball, had it easy in the amount of female attention he got. He certainly was able to arouse feelings inside Yuna's core that she certainly hadn't felt in many years. However, she was not here to flirt or fantasize. She was here to learn, so that's all she would allow herself to think about.

He got up and Michael escorted him away from the others. "'Sup?" Tidus asked after they were away from the others.

'A typical rookie,' Yuna thought absently. 'Macho Man if I ever saw one.'

"Turn off your music, then I will talk to you," Michael said evenly.

"Sorry," Tidus said absently, punching the Pause button on his music as he spoke.

"That's better. Now, I was just thinking that you might want to talk to Yuna after this period gets out," he said slowly. "She specifically asked if she could observe the class you were in."

"Whoa," Tidus said, casting a look at Yuna who had sat down to listen to the teacher's lecture. "Dude, are you serious? Why would she want to talk to me?"

"I am unsure," Michael replied. "All the same, it's virtually a crime to spurn the mayor's daughter."

"She's that Braska fool's daughter?" Tidus said. "Damn she's hot."

Michael ignored the swear word. "Tidus, when you talk to her, be polite, will you? She won't take kindly to your pick-up lines."

"Those pick-up lines are the shit, though!" Tidus protested. "Even you gotta admit that."

This time, Michael interjected. "Watch your language, please," Michael said. "I don't mind swearing, but there are those around you who aren't as relaxed as I am. You would do well to remember that."

"Whatever man," Tidus said, waving his hand dismissively at Michael. "I'll talk to her after."

"Excellent," Michael said. He heaved an inward sigh of relief at the fact that Tidus didn't make his request difficult. "And just for once, could you pay attention in class?"

"Now you're pushing it, old man," Tidus said, walking back to his seat and sitting down, turning his headphones back on.

Twenty minutes later, the lesson had concluded. The thirty-five or so students packed into the dimly-lit classroom slowly got up from their seats and filed out of the room. They were either grumbling about the insane amount of homework the teacher gave them, or else talking about what they were going to do that night. The students seemed normal enough. It was odd, Yuna observed. Had the school's atmosphere been different, she might have assumed that this school was just as high in quality as Zanarkand's other schools. But the papers didn't lie . . . not this time, anyway.

Was this place hiding something?

"Hey," a voice cut into Yuna's thoughts.

Tidus stood behind her. His eyes were scanning, passing over her body like a laser. She expected them to rest on her chest for a long time (which they did), but for the most part, he was looking straight into her eyes. He was completely relaxed. His jeans hung about two inches under his boxers, held to his hips only with a loose belt. His face was confident. Not terribly cocky, but he was certainly sure of his charm. Yuna liked this about him. She was always so used to having the public shift uncertainly, stutter, and watch what they said around her. Tidus was himself, no matter who he was around.

"Hello . . . Tidus?" She was the hesitant one this time. "It's a pleasure to meet you." She shook Tidus's extended hand.

"What are you doing?" Tidus said, looking at her as though she were alien.

Yuna looked bewildered. "I'm sorry, I–"

"Oh, I forgot. You don't get out too much. Here, let me show you what to do," Tidus said. "Rub your hand across mine. Put the inside part of your hand out, like a handshake."

Miffed, Yuna did so. Tidus's hand, for being a sports player, was astonishingly smooth. His fingers were slender and well-defined. A diamond Abes ring was on his ring finger. His hand had black permanent marker scrawled across it, tracing the large lines running across his palm. It was interesting; the drawing almost looked like a caricature of a landscape sketch. Yuna moved her hand across his. Tidus then made a fist. Subconsciously Yuna imitated him, then Tidus lightly hit his fist against hers.

"Would you mind telling me what that's all about?" Yuna asked, staring at her hand.

"Where you come from, you probably don't see this huh?" Tidus said. "It's sorta like a handshake . . . just how the dudes say hi."

"I see," Yuna said, smiling. "So, you're a blitzball player, right?"

"Hell yes," Tidus said, flashing her a toothy grin. "I'm one of the best players they got. They just bench me a lot because I'm a new recruit. But you give me a few months, and I'll be out there with the best of 'em."

"I wish you the best of luck," Yuna said. "Just be careful with yourself. It would be a shame to lose that talent, wouldn't it?"

"What, you mean this?" Tidus said, fishing into his sweatshirt for something.

It was a statement, not a question. He pulled a small bottle of liquor from inside his sweatshirt, and looked around, making sure nobody was around. He took a draw off of it and then offered it to Yuna, who refused. Tidus shrugged, replaced the cap and tucked down the inside of his sweatshirt, safely hidden from view.

"Isn't that against the rules?" Yuna whispered.

"You sound like my old man," Tidus said, the slightest hint of disgust on his tongue. "I don't give a shit," he said plainly, in answer to Yuna's question. "What people don't know don't hurt 'em."

"But it might hurt you," Yuna insisted.

"I dunno," Tidus said, shrugging again and putting his hands in his pockets. "Don't really care either. Just as long as I don't fuck up my game, I'm okay."

Yuna could see that this conversation was going in circles. There was no deterring him from alcohol with a simple lecture. Besides, it wasn't her place and she knew it. All the same, there was something about this kid that she liked. She couldn't explain it now, not when she hardly knew him. But he was interesting. He was a whole new world to her, and she was certain that he potentially could be the greatest teacher she ever had. There wasn't enough time to find out all she was thirsting for, but she hoped that she and Tidus could meet again somewhere.

"I thought your father was dead," Yuna said.

"Auron, my guardian," Tidus corrected. "Old anal bastard, that guy. Worse in some ways than my dad."

"Why do you live with him?" Yuna asked.

"'Cause it's better than living in that." Tidus pointed to a dumpster outside the window they were next to. Yuna said nothing, but nodded slowly. "Anyway, how does life treat you when you have everything?" Tidus asked. It was an innocent question, though many would have perceived it as sarcastic.

"You know, it's funny you say that . . ." Yuna said, suddenly looking quite depressed. "Because I don't know."

"Huh?" Tidus queried. "What do you mean?"

"Well . . . you see, I don't have everything," Yuna said softly.

"What the Hell are you talking about?" Tidus asked, astonished. "I'd give anything to be where you are. A dad who isn't a control freak, lots of friends, the freedom to do whatever you want . . ."

"I'd give anything to have that too," Yuna said, even more softly. "I'd better get going. My car is waiting. Nice talking with you, Tidus." She quickly turned and hurried down the hall, close to tears.

"Wait up a sec!" Tidus called, running after her. "Hey, I'm sorry. Really, I am," he said earnestly, catching her shoulder and wheeling her around. "Tell you what. Why don't you come to my game on Sunday? I can show you around Zanarkand, and maybe you can come over if Auron's not around. How 'bout that?"

Yuna's red flags started waving in the back of her mind. He wanted her sex, the flags read. That was it. But then, a voice rang out in her mind that said "give it a chance, Yuna. It may be the only one you get." Yuna stood there, motionless, not saying a word for about a minute as the voices dueled with each other in the recesses of her mind. Would her father accept? No. She would have to sneak out if she was to spend any amount of time with a boy who was shady at best. It would be a near impossible challenge. However . . .

"Yes . . . yes, I'd like that," Yuna finally answered, smiling. "I'll be in the stands, watching you play."

"Sweet," Tidus replied, sounding genuinely pleased. "Then, you can meet me at the East entrance to the stadium when the game's over. Auron usually bikes to work on Sunday nights, and the cold doesn't bother him one bit. I'll swipe his black corvette, so look for me in that."

"Right," Yuna sighed. "Well . . . see you then, Tidus."

"Later," he replied, hurrying down the hallway to his locker.

They would meet again. Yuna mulled the morning over in her head as she rode in the back of the car toward the Governor's Mansion ten minutes later. Tidus was a perfect example of what she had wanted to prove: there were good people in bad places. The only reason people judged Tidus the way they did was because they either feared him, didn't understand him, or both. But Yuna was neither. Despite all the rumors and all the prejudice, Yuna was not afraid of the teenager. She could not fully explain why, still. However, she was bound and determined to figure it out.

Eventually.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.3 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SIA HQ.  
02:44.  
Saturday, November 23.__

Zanarkand had some of the tallest and most unique buildings in the world. All of its skyscrapers were round instead of rectangular, a characteristic shared only with the Bevelle Mayor's Tower. However, Zanarkand's skyline was dominated by one skyscraper in particular: the Spiran Intelligence Agency HQ building. The mammoth structure was constructed on the outskirts of downtown Zanarkand, so that the building seemed to be separated from its fellow constituents. Towering above 1500 feet and with 121 floors, it was easily the tallest of its kind in the world, and was hailed as a cornerstone in modern urban engineering. In fact, the whole exterior of the building was glass with the exception of the rooftop. The window cleaners who cleaned the panes of the SIA headquarters were some of the highest-paid people in the city.

The hallways in the SIA were certainly a labyrinth of epic proportions. To aid one in navigation, directional signs resembling those at an airport were spaced at necessary intervals throughout the building. The halls were softly toned, but no music played in the background. Red and white flourescent lights lined the halls on either side where the wall met the ceiling. The occasional plastic plant and bench could be found, along with a vending machine or two. The carpet was navy blue. At night the hallways glowed red, as part of Braska's city ordinance to reduce light pollution. It was rather ominous.

The SIA director had the entire 121st floor as his office. People were arranged in the building according to rank and/or importance within the departments: the Director on the top floor, the Deputy Director on the 120th floor, and on down from there. Some people humorously called it the "3-D org. chart." If you were on the second floor (since the first floor was the lobby), you were lucky to even have a job, and the Director probably didn't even know that your department existed. In parallel, if you were on the 100th floor (the top floor held by ordinary employees before starting with the department heads on the 101st floor), you were practically on a first-name basis with everybody.

The sky had gone dark again after the sun had made its presence known for just under five hours. The city lights of Zanarkand reflected in the tower's glass shell, acting as a giant convex mirror for the whole city. A huge red light brightened and dimmed at the tower's highest point, a 150-foot long antenna and power grid that would literally skim the clouds on many days when the aforementioned was present. The occasional media or police helicopter would fly over the city, almost at eye-level with the uppermost floor. In addition, anyone who worked on the higher floors of the building could see miles and miles into the distance, and you would often see an employee with a camera on a low-security level floor, taking pictures of the surrounding features.

As it was now quarter to three in the morning, many employees had gone home, and the only signs of life were from the few people who were employed to the graveyard shifts. However, the SIA director was working after-hours once again on one of his special projects. He was a man known for his tendency to work in the building many hours into the night. His real name was spoken only by those close to him both personally and professionally: Kinoc. Everybody else was to call him simply by his title: The Director. He was a short, middle-aged bald man who nonetheless commanded an enormous amount of respect. Five feet, one inch at the age of 47 and carrying an IQ four times his age, he has been the director for more than ten years. The tenacity with which he did his job and conducted himself was idolized by few and feared by many. Knowledge was power, and this man certainly wielded a lot of both.

Nobody, not even the Deputy Director, knew what Kinoc did in his office. He had invited her into his office many times, but the former War Tactics Advisor noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Belgemine didn't dare assume to know why Kinoc was so secretive, nor was it her prerogative to do so. Kinoc was not a man to be questioned without a damn good reason, and under no circumstances whatsoever were you to inquire as to what he did in his office. A move like that would find you with a pink slip in hand. However, he was a patient man . . . with some things.

Certainly, he was patient. Ten years was a long time to wait for a dream to be recognized.

He had just got off the phone with Mayor Braska to whom Kinoc had a direct phone line. He had a direct phone line to every Mayor in Spira. After the call concluded, he waited a few minutes before opening his e-mail account on his personal laptop. After entering his clearance password and giving voice recognition, he opened his in-box with another password. The file Braska had sent to him was large, but with state-of-the-art technology available to Kinoc through his position, the computer downloaded the fifteen-megabyte audio file in a matter of seconds. Kinoc opened the attachment and entered the encrypted password Braska had given him, then sent it to play on his media player.

The downloading level read 37 percent complete when the audio began to play over his surround sound stereo system. It was, like everything else he worked with, state-of-the-art. The female voice he was hearing was very clear, the male's not so much.

_"I thought your father was dead." Yuna's voice resounded surprisingly clear through the speakers of Kinoc's laptop._

_ "Auron, my guardian." Tidus spoke up now. "Old anal bastard, that guy. Worse in some ways than my dad."_

Kinoc laughed. "Auron always was an introvert and a perfectionist," he said to himself. "One of the best secret Ops I ever had working for me."

_"Why do you live with him?"_

_ "'Cause it's better than living in that." The voice paused for a minute before continuing. "Anyway, how does life treat you when you have everything?"_

_ "You know, it's funny you say that . . ." Her voice paused too. "Because I don't know."_

_ "Huh? What do you mean?"_

The phone rang abruptly. He reached over and paused the playback, picking up the receiver.

"Yes?" he said. He spoke with a short, snappish and matter-of-fact voice.

"You wished to speak with me?" It was Braska, calling Kinoc as planned, two minutes after the file was sent.

"I do," Kinoc replied. "I'm calling to admonish you, once again, that we need to have a meeting to discuss a plan of action regarding Seymour. He's really starting to go batshit crazy." Braska chuckled. Kinoc felt a brief surge of annoyance. "This isn't a joke. I've gone over some very disturbing reports. He's shifting money around . . . drafting off-color memos to his staff."

"And I'm sure he knows we're watching him," Braska answered evenly. "You know how theatrical he is."

"Surely, however." He stopped. He needed to finish listening to that file. "Dammit. My telephone securities reset. Call me back in a minute." Without waiting for an answer, he replaced the phone.

_"Well . . . you see, I don't have everything,"  
"What the Hell are you talking about? I'd give anything to be where you are. A dad who isn't a control freak, lots of friends, the freedom to do whatever you wanted . . ."  
"I'd give anything to have that too." Yuna sounded quite depressed and her voice was very soft. "I'd better get going. My car is waiting. Nice talking with you, Tidus." Kinoc could hear her voice quavering, as though she were about to cry.  
"Wait up a sec!" The voice was awfully distant now. Kinoc and Braska could then hear the pounding of footsteps growing louder. "Hey, I'm sorry. Really, I am." The voice's volume level was now audible. "Tell you what. Why don't you come to my game on Sunday, then I can show you around Zanarkand, and maybe you can come over if Auron's not around. How 'bout that?"  
"Yes . . . yes, I'd like that," Yuna took a minute to answer, but when she did, she sounded pleased. "I'll be in the stands, watching you play."  
_  
The phone rang again. Cursing, Kinoc picked up the receiver. "I didn't know you'd take me quite so literally," he said with a hint of frost. The file was still running. Hastily, he paused it.

"I figured it best, since it is quite late," Braska said. "Why one minute, though?"

"It takes my security clearances about thirty seconds to bypass the firewalls of the phone company and your ISP to delete any records of this call and the e-mail you sent," Kinoc answered. "After you hang up, it will take them thirty seconds to delete all traces of this call. Plus, I had something urgent to attend to that required I be away from the phone for a moment."

"That sounded like Yuna's voice just now," Braska cut in, sounding slightly accusatory. "I thought we were going to discuss our plans for Seymour. And what is Yuna doing that interests you?"

"We are going to discuss our plans for Seymour," Kinoc said. "And you made it explicitly clear that you wanted Yuna under SIA protection, due to the ties you have to the Al Bhed. That's what I'm doing. So calm down."

"And you oversee that personally?" Braska asked, sounding skeptical.

"If something did happen, it would be serious enough to warrant my involvement anyway. So I've just cut out the middle man. Efficiency: what a concept." He cleared his throat and continued. "Anyway. With regard to Seymour, I have a plan outlined. It's foolproof. All the complications I foresaw regarding this stage of the plan have been nullified. Now I just have to call the other two people I plan on getting involved."

"Who might they be, if you don't mind my asking?" Braska inquired.

"Well, since the first mission I have is very tedious and requires the work of an expert, I'm going to re-recruit the best field agent I ever had working for me," Kinoc said. "It will be difficult, but I'm sure with a little persuasion, Auron will be more than willing to do the job."

"Where does he fit in your plan?" Braska asked.

"That I cannot tell you," Kinoc replied. "In case my security system fails, I don't want somebody listening in on our conversation. However, I assure you he will not fail if in fact he does the assignment."

"My trust in you is not the issue here, Kinoc," Braska said, sounding slightly impatient. "It's your cryptic ideas that concern me. I'm simply looking out for my daughter's future, as well as my own. You said you have everything ready to go. By the sounds of it, you don't. Perhaps if you told me more, I'd feel a little more comfortable about this whole thing. But you're so vague, I don't know whether or not I can trust this plan of yours."

"I have a method for everything I do, and that includes the order in which I do it, Mayor," Kinoc said dangerously. "There's no need for you to be mistrustful of me."

"I suppose you're right," Braska said evenly. "What about the second person you plan on involving?"

"She's a private contract. Her name is Paine," Kinoc answered. "The best at what she does. She's going to be ensuring that any mess that Auron has to leave is cleared up."

Kinoc paused, mentally running over his plan again. It was a complex and failsafe plan, with only one or two minor variables in it that might hinder things. But they were hindrances only, and he made sure that they would not compromise his plan anyway. The final outcome would be simple, a stark contrast to the complexity of how this outcome would be attained. But he had prepared. For ten long, agonizing years, he had planned, outlined, prepared, organized, and assembled a list of procedures, covering its branches and making sure everything would turn out right. Nothing short of perfection was acceptable, for one mistake might make ten years of hard work and dedication come tumbling down on his head.

"Thank you again," Braska said. "We're still go for our meeting tomorrow here at the Mansion, right? You know we need to fill Cid in on this. And I have a feeling he isn't going to like it."

"He'll buy in. He'll have to," Kinoc said. "The plan is already in motion."

"Well then, what do you suggest?"

"Don't tell him about anything until the three of us sit down at the table tomorrow," Kinoc suggested. "The more time he has to think about it, the more reasons he'll invent to go against it."

Braska was silent for a moment. Heaving a huge sigh, he said, "I really don't like the idea of just leveling this on him."

"Well then, I don't know what to tell you," Kinoc replied shortly. "Mister Mayor," Kinoc began, sounding firm, "your future is secure. In less than a week, this plan of mine will change your life, the life of your daughter, and all those who know you as friends and professionals. With Seymour removed, the world will become more stable. You can trust that what I have in mind will become reality, and in a short period of time." He began to shut things down on his computer. "It's late. I bid you goodnight."

"And the same to you," Braska said. "Take care." Kinoc smiled and hung up, resuming the file.

_"Sweet. Then, you can meet me at the East entrance to the stadium when the game's over. Auron usually bikes to work on Sunday nights, and the cold doesn't bother him one bit. I'll swipe his black corvette, so look for me in that."_

_ "Right." The conversation closed. "Well . . . see you then, Tidus."_

The file concluded. "Brilliant," Kinoc said slowly to himself. "Absolutely perfect." Yes, he would certainly change the life of Mayor Braska and his daughter.

'Life is vastly different when you're dead.'

* * *

Oh, a cliffhanger. The first one of this story. Not too bad, eh? Now, I have two more things to discuss before I sign out.

Firstly, please review. I know it's easier just to keep coming back and just read, but really . . . comments from my readers are much appreciated. Even if it's a miniscule review with a kudo or a tidbit of advice, I appreciate everything I get. So please, once again, take a minute or two to review.

Secondly and as always, be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

That's it for now. Until next time, I'll be seeing you.

SirGecko


	4. Convolution

Hello, all. Hey, chapter four didn't take three months like I said it would! It's only two and a half. Anyway, this chapter is longer than the third one, and the longest that I've ever written- just over 18 pages. So, set aside a good block of time to read this chapter.

So, now for a short summary. Chapter four jumps around a lot, so make sure you watch for that. It introduces the last two new characters- Rikku and Mayor Seymour- and they have a meeting that many would never forget. Look out for that. Also, Auron returns! He has an interesting conversation with an old colleague. Another feminine character also makes an appearance in this chapter, but you've seen her before. Herinteraction with one of our main charactersshows us how small the world can be..

Let's get right down to business with the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

**_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken. _**

Well, that pretty much covers everything. Enjoy this enormous chapter: number four.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Convolution**

_  
_Bevelle airspace.  
10:02.  
Saturday, November 23._

The vibration of her cell phone jerked her out of a doze. As she roused and felt around on her lap for the device, she could feel her ears popping repetitively. It was an unpleasant feeling, the pressure building up in her head until it seemed to morph her brain against her skull. The little phone continued to vibrate until she felt it fall off her lap. Swearing, she raised the little tray table attached to the seat in front of her and felt around on the floor for the fallen Razor cellular phone. She searched for several seconds before she found it, almost underneath the feet of the passenger in front of her.

The phone was still vibrating in her palm as she held it close to her face, attempting to see who it was that was calling. The area code was a Zanarkand number, and she recognized it as being that of her father, Cid. Her father was undoubtedly preparing for his biannual meeting with Zanarkand's city officials, and was calling her before the meeting was to commence. It was due to this meeting that his daughter, the girl now descending into the majestic city of Bevelle, was having to take this trip in the first place. Rikku was flying out to meet the Mayor of Bevelle, a notorious man by the name of Seymour.

She pressed the talk button on the phone and held it to her ear. "Pops? Is that you?" She asked quietly. It was still early in the morning, and the man in the seat next to her hadn't quite woken up from his nap yet.

"Yep, it's your old man Cid," the voice on the other end of the line boomed. "How ya doin'? Where are ya? How's the weather out there?"

Cid was a short, slightly stout and hotheaded man who loved his job and his family. Rikku was certainly lucky to have him as her father; he was also one of the most loyal people anyone could ever meet. Originally born in Home, he had already been involved in politics before he came to Zanarkand. No doubt his home away from home, Zanarkand's citizenry had no problem with the Al Bhed man being Deputy Mayor. He had been Braska's longtime friend and advisor for many years, having first come to the city as a diplomat from Home, trying to negotiate an alliance with the city against Bevelle.

Rikku glanced out of the small rectangular window next to her. Bevelle, a city with a much milder winter than Zanarkand, was nevertheless overshadowed by a solid mass of dark, grey rain clouds. She could faintly hear the pitter patter of raindrops over the roar of the plane's engines, signaling that it was raining quite hard. The normally aquamarine waters surrounding the massive city were colored gray due to the clouds overhead, giving the city a gloomy atmosphere. The river that ran through Bevelle was even grayer. Lightning flashed in the distance.

'What an omen,' Rikku thought.

"I think we're just about to land," Rikku said, yawning and stretching her limbs as far as the tiny confines of the space she occupied would allow. "My ears are popping like crazy, and it's raining like nothing else."

"Hey kiddo," Cid's voice went from booming and amiable to soft and serious, "d'you think you can talk to this guy? I mean, will you be okay if he lets the cat out of the bag?"

Rikku laughed, slightly nervously. "Oh, I don't think Seymour wants anybody to know that he's chatting with an Al Bhed. His approval rating would go 'boom!'." She made a quiet explosion noise.

Bevelle was well-known to outsiders as being the most self-indulged, elitist and egotistical city in Spira, mostly the attitude of the radical Yevonites. Many of those who worshiped in the city were the hardcore of the hardcore, where the Holy Word Of Yevon was followed to the last letter and semicolon. Well, almost, anyway. Rikku always liked to scoff at the Yevonites in Bevelle for knit-picking at the aspects of the Holy Word that suited them and others. It seemed that the further away from the city one got, the less adamant about Yevon one became. No doubt, there were still firm believers in the religion, but they weren't as ardent as those who practiced in Bevelle. The zealots were, of course, the minority in the city, but their united voice dominated over culture and politics in the city.

"Hey, maybe things will go well, and we can cut a deal," Rikku said brightly.

"Haha, that's my girl," Cid laughed. "Forever the optimist." Rikku smiled; there was a pause over the line. "Listen kiddo . . . I've met this guy before. He's at the head of a seriously ingrained and well-formed good-'ol-boy network."

"Huh? What's that mean?" Rikku asked.

"It's what many politicians and people of power fall into," Cid said. "Lemme see here . . . uh, well, the Network, as I like to call it, is simply a group of people in an area who know everybody there, or have connections. And they use these connections and 'friendships' with people to get appointed to top positions. The Network supports the candidate whenever others would start to ask questions. And thus, a system is formed where it is very difficult to eradicate the network."

"Oh . . . okay," Rikku said skeptically.

"Put simply, it's usually a bad bunch of folks who keep filling the high seats in a city," Cid explained.

"Gotcha!" Rikku replied, finally understanding. "Listen pops, I gotta go. We're getting close to Bevelle now and the pilots are gonna want cell phones off. Wouldn't want to crash us into Seymour's office, now would I?" She grinned.

"If it were anybody but you on the plane, that might not be a bad idea . . ." Cid said. Rikku's eyes widened, and Cid could sense her shock through her pause over the phone. "Sorry, kid. I shouldn't say things like that, especially over unsecured lines. Talk to you later, Rikku, and good luck negotiating anything with that Guado!"

The line went dead.

She waited for about fifteen minutes before the huge 767 touched down and began to taxi onto the runway at Mystic International Airport on the outskirts of Bevelle. The busiest airport in the world, it was a hub for many incoming and outgoing flights. With seven runways, six gate wings and over 3800 planes taking off and landing there every day, Mystic was hailed as the most important transportation gateway in the world. The airport was also the most diverse building in the whole city, trying to extend its hand to all travelers, whether they be Yevonite or Al Bhed. Of course, Rikku was sure that this was solely for economic reasons.

In another ten minutes, the plane had docked and the passengers slowly began making their way down the aisle of the plane to depart. Most of them were people returning home from a trip, and didn't even notice that Rikku was Al Bhed.. She sat and waited; there was no point in rushing off the plane. For another five minutes, she waited for the people on board to disperse before collecting her bag from underneath her seat and exiting the plane.

Walking past the escalator that led down to the baggage claim wing, she continued onward to find the nearest bathroom. She didn't have any baggage to pick up, as her next flight back to Zanarkand was leaving just over six hours from now. It would be suicidal for any Al Bhed to linger in Bevelle any longer than absolutely necessary. Despite this modern age of cultural, economical and technological development, bigotry toward the Al Bhed was still quite ubiquitous in the streets of Bevelle. It was truly sad, Rikku had thought on many occasions. Bevelle would be such a lovely city to visit, even live in, if people weren't so prejudicial.

Rikku had to mind her step in the airport. It was the middle of the holiday weekend, and this was one of the airport's busiest times of the year. More than once, she narrowly avoided colliding with several people, and once she was almost mowed over by a passing passenger carrier. It certainly was bedlam. However, Rikku didn't mind. Although her dresswear made her look like an average citizen of any city, any disorder in the area would distract people from focusing intently on her. She didn't want people suspecting her bloodline.

Rikku found a restroom and quickly ducked into it. Despite the crowdedness of the airport, there was no line around the bathroom for which she was thankful. She didn't need to use the restroom anyhow, all she wanted to do was to make sure that her dress was both proper and non-revealing of her race. She was dressed very nicely, in a simple navy-blue spaghetti strap dress that fell all the way to her ankles, where she wore small clear high heels. Rikku, already skinny, looked even thinner wearing the tight dress. It felt almost like a corset, she thought with a small laugh. Her hair was much more complex, the miracles of mousse styling her hair into a bushy bun atop her head. Strands of hair stuck out of the bun in all directions, making it seem like a poorly-manifested pinwheel.

Satisfied, Rikku left the bathroom and began to weave in a undulating fashion around the throngs of people. Hardly anybody was watching where they were going, and the Al Bhed girl was careful to watch every step she took. More than anything, she was afraid that she would be noticed by one of the passerby, so she kept her head down as far as possible without inhibiting her ability to see in front of her. However, it was bound to happen- she collided head-on with another woman and they both sprawled on the floor. Passers by continued on their way as if nothing had happened.

Rikku quickly got up and straightened her dress, thankful that she didn't twist her ankle. "Oh gee, I'm sorry miss! I'm so sorry!"

Rikku glanced apprehensively at the girl who she knocked over. She was also quite young, but older than Rikku by about five years, give or take. The woman's skin was incredibly pale, as though she had not seen the sun in many years. However, this girl was able to use it to her advantage, and combined with her dresswear, she looked quite attractive. Her silvery hair was done up in a sort of messy, yet stylish bun, and fell short as a boy's would at the back. A light coating of brownish lipstick rested on her lips, adding a small bit of color to her sallow face. She wore a black turtleneck and tight black dress pants, as well as a pair of black leather boots.

The girl said nothing, but instead stood up with an athleticism few people possessed. She swept her piercing red eyes over Rikku, as if she were a scanner. This whole process took about a minute. Then, she spoke.

"You're Al-Bhed." It was a statement, not a question.

Rikku's heart skipped two beats upon hearing this. Horror began to trickle into the core of her chest. How did this random stranger know she was Al Bhed? What had she missed that made it so obvious? She had done everything in her power to keep her identity a secret. Either she missed something very basic, or this woman was clairvoyant. Rikku didn't believe in the supernatural of any kind, so she suspected the former.

"Yes," Rikku said quietly. "Uh . . . well, I'm really sorry for knocking you over . . . uh . . ."

"Scared?" The girl said stoically. "Worried that I'm a Yevonite?" Rikku said nothing. She didn't even move, so the other woman continued on. "Quite the contrary. You have nothing to worry about. I'll be on my way and that will be the end of that."

Rikku breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Thanks," she said after a moment. The girl nodded, and turned to walk off. "Wait!" Rikku shouted after her. "What's your name?"

The girl turned back around slowly, and walked over to where Rikku was standing. She slowly approached her and drew out a satchel. Rikku gasped when she saw the woman tug a stack of bills out of the bag. She was the Deputy Mayor's daughter, and even she had never seen that much cold hard cash. The woman tugged the topmost bill out from the stack, folded it and extended it roughly toward Rikku, who took it hesitantly.

"Names are unimportant." She answered coldly. "Think of me as the good Samaritan who strongly advises you to buy a pair of sunglasses." Then she smirked. "Who knows. You may yet find out my name . . . I think we'll be meeting again someday." With that, the woman turned and left without a word, disappearing from sight and into the traffic of people.

Rikku stared at the crisp, clean note in her hand and did a double take when she saw that it was for 50 gil. Obviously, that young woman was quite wealthy. Yet, she dressed conservatively. Had she just gotten the money? Did she even spend it? She looked very middle-class for somebody to be carrying around at least one brick of fifties in her satchel. Rikku just shrugged, put the note in her purse and continued walking down the wide and bustling midway of the airport.

As she walked, she remembered the reason she had been given the money. And suddenly, the reason for being seen as an Al Bhed became obvious. That silver-haired girl was very observant. Rikku had, of course, forgotten to cover her green swirl eyes, which were an obvious telling of who she was. Apprehensive, Rikku peeled an eye out for any tropical trinket stands that may be stationed in this part of the airport. On a rare stroke of luck, she only had to search for a couple minutes before spotting one. Hurrying over, she took the first pair of sunglasses that she saw off the rack and stood in line, keeping her head down.

The line moved agonizingly slow, but finally it was Rikku's turn at the register. She kept her head down as she paid for the glasses, and quickly skirted away once she had received her change. Rikku knew that she would not look out of place at all wearing sunglasses in the airport; there were many travelers here bound for the tropical towns of Luca and Besaid. She could just blend in as one of them. As it turns out, the sunglasses looked quite good on her.

Her meeting with Mayor Seymour was in an hour. Quickening her pace even more, Rikku half jogged, half walked the remainder of the distance to the load/unload passenger zone, on the south side of the airport. Knowing how busy this place was, it would take one minute to call a cab and fifteen minutes just to get a mile away from the airport. Rikku checked her watch again, apprehensive that she was going to be late. She didn't want to upset the notorious mayor anymore than her mere presence already would.

Fifteen minutes later, Rikku found herself in a taxi van with one other passenger. She was going to be dropped off first, as her stop was closer to the airport than the man's destination. During the ride, she tried her hardest not to work up her nerves about the coming negotiation. But amidst all the apprehension, her mind couldn't help but wander back to the encounter with the young woman in the airport. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she remembered her piercing laser-red gaze and pale, set face. But more than anything else, she remembered the smirk and the ominous words spoken by the woman.

Sometimes it wasn't what was said, but how it was said.

"I think we'll be meeting again someday."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Blitz Bar and Grill.  
19:17.  
Saturday, November 23._ _

It was another slow, dreary night at the bar. The glasses hung sparkling clean and dry on the racks above the bar counter. The grill was off. In fact, the bar was completely silent with the exception of jazz playing out of the dusty radio on the shelf over the bar. Auron could hear the synchronous beat of the alto saxophone, trumpet and drums, and his right foot lightly tapped the floor with the beat, independent of his conscious mind. He was nearing the end of his double shift, for which the man was very thankful. It was almost seven thirty. The bar was vacant with the exception of Wakka, who was racking up another set of pool balls on the recently acquired table.

Auron had Zanarkand's daily paper, the Farplane Memoire, splayed out in front of him. He was nearly finished reading the local section of the paper, after which he would proceed to the comics. Auron was a very methodical man, and that included the way in which he sifted through the contents of his paper. First he would read the main headlines, then scout out the weather forecast. After that, he would find the opinion page and read the letters to the editor, and then proceed onto the business page. Finally, he would read the local news, and then do the crossword. The whole process took about three hours, but the man knew no better way to pass the time than to read the daily paper. On some days he didn't have time for everything inside, depending on how thick the paper was that day.

Auron picked up the glass of ice water next to him and took a long sip as he read an article about the local food industry. He made a face as he tasted chlorine washing over his mouth, and set the glass back down. The music changed to a slower-paced song. It opened with a clarinet solo. The french horn slowly drifted in, followed by the cymbal. The drummer lightly tapped the metal disc; the tune was almost a lullaby. Until the trumpet authoritatively belted out a solo. A c-note, followed by a d, then an e, and rapidly on back down the b-flat scale. It continued onward, and onward . . . Auron was lost in the music and the printed text of his paper.

It was just another ordinary day.

Auron heard a familiar CRACK, followed immediately by the clashing of many pool balls. When the noise ceased, Auron faintly heard Wakka mutter a curse word under his breath, signaling that he had failed to sink a ball on the break. Auron paid no attention to it though as he finished his article and began to sift through the paper, looking for the crossword. And so, a few minutes passed as Auron silently deciphered his crossword and Wakka silently finished his pool game. It wasn't long though before Wakka's voice broke through the jazz.

"Shit," he spat. "That damn 8-ball keeps falling into the damn pocket, no matter what I do. I can't make any shots, but when it comes to the cue ball or the eight, it's like gravity, ya? Boom! Gone. Loser."

Auron finished writing out the answer to 41-down, Lemur, before looking up. "No sense in cursing the ball. Only practice will make you better."

"Easier said than done, old man," Wakka grumbled, gathering the balls and putting them back on the table. Auron said nothing, but went back to his crossword.

Snow had been falling for the last six hours, hard and steady snow that added to the growing menace for the Zanarkand road crews. Almost thirty inches had fallen in the last 48 hours, a near-record snowfall for the city. Auron had called the manager of the bar, who had agreed to let Auron close the bar at eight if no customers showed up. The snow was so bad that only those who absolutely had to drive did so. Otherwise, the streets were relatively deserted. And that included those leading to the bar. Since the only customer was Wakka, Auron planned to close up either way, regardless of who else walked in the door.

"Finish your crossword yet?" Wakka asked a few minutes later as he was setting up the pool balls again.

Auron looked up, and straightened his sunglasses. "Why?" he asked slightly suspiciously.

'Leave it to Auron to respond to a question with a question,' Wakka thought. "I wanna know whether or not you wanna play a game," he said. "It's kinda boring shooting by yourself, ya?"

"No," Auron stated simply. "I haven't finished my crossword."

"Aw, c'mon," Wakka said. "It's past seven-thirty, and you close in half an hour. One game, ya? Then I won't bug you."

Auron sat motionless for a few seconds. He took another sip of his water, then gave a resigned sigh. "I break."

"Cool," Wakka said, smiling and racking the balls. "We'll play eight-ball." Auron nodded.

Auron waited, motionless, while Wakka fetched another cue stick. What Wakka didn't know was that Auron was quite a pool shark from his days back when he worked for the industry. He considered that to be one of the very few positives about his old job. Even so, Auron had not played pool in over two years. Wakka handed a cue stick to Auron, who took it wordlessly. It was wrapped in leather at the end, somewhat like a walking stick. The whole stick was pained black with the exception of the back half of the stick, which was a smoky gray color.

Auron chalked it up, and lined up his shot for the break. As he was just about to shoot, however, the phone rang.

"Excuse me one moment," Auron said as he went to pick up the phone. "Blitz Bar, can I help you?"

"You can," the voice said. "How have you been?"Auron tensed. He hadn't heard that voice in over two years.

Not since he quit his job at the SIA.

His career at the Spiran Intelligence Agency was full of memories he wanted to leave behind. He never wanted anything more to do with that place. And here he stood, phone in hand with the very Director himself on the other end of the line. They had once been friends, and in a way, Auron still thought that Kinoc considered them to be that way. Auron disagreed.

"I don't even wish to consider the means you used to contact me," Auron said softly and seriously.

"Believe me, they were quite advanced," Kinoc said, chuckling. "You're a difficult person to find these days."

"I like it that way," Auron replied pointedly. "For many reasons, none of which I have the desire to explain."

Kinoc merely chuckled again. "You always were the reclusive type," he said. "Great Nighthawk agent. Anyway, how have you been?"

"Get to your point Kinoc, and quickly," an irritated Auron retorted. "Or I'm hanging up."

"Hey, hey, hey," the man on the other end of the line said, in a mock-hurt tone of voice. "What ever happened to civilities? We're good friends, remember?" Auron didn't say anything. "Anyway, the point. I know you haven't worked for me for years, or even talked to me until now . . ." Kinoc paused, expecting some sort of reply from Auron. He got none, so he continued on. "but I have an assignment that I would like you to perform. If you want it, that is."

"I beg your pardon." It was not a question. Auron was getting more and more irritated with every word the SIA director said.

"I know you quit with bitter resentment for the Agency, and it sounds like resentment for me as well," Kinoc answered, sounding just slightly disappointed by Auron's response. "And I know that you don't want it, but I just thought I'd give you a buzz and ask you about it."

"You're right about one thing, Kinoc," Auron said simply. "I haven't worked for you in years. It's going to stay that way too. End of discussion."

Kinoc was fuming inside. Auron was such an arrogant and foolhardy old man in some ways. The old bastard had the audacity to talk to one of the most important people in the world as if he were some kind of washout, a man without wits or wisdom. It was true, he had once counted Auron as his closest friend. However, circumstances transpired that apparently made the two men grow quite distant. Kinoc suspected that it had something to do with the death of Auron's partner and longtime friend, Jecht.

"The past is the past, Auron," Kinoc said softly. "I made a mistake, okay? Let it go."

"Your 'mistake' cost a man his life," Auron said acidly. "You sent him on a doomed mission Kinoc, and you damn well know it. And now you appear to be deluding yourself into the fact that I will trust you as well."

"I know an apology will not supplement any forgiveness that I could get from you, Auron," Kinoc said, "and you have every right to be angry. But I learn from my mistakes, too. If I didn't, I wouldn't be Director of the SIA. I promise you, as an old friend, that this mission is totally safe and involves no venture into harm's way."

"Kinoc, I said no," Auron said slowly. "And I mean it. No."

Auron was just as Kinoc remembered him– stubborn and forthright to the last. He was certainly an intelligent man. It would be difficult to get Auron to do this one simple-simple, yet essential-mission for him, but there had to be a way. And Kinoc knew just how to do it.

"You won't do it even if I have a five-figure check sitting on my desk for you?" he cajoled. Money always worked.

Auron sighed. "Even today, your powers of observation are abysmal," he said. "I'm sure with all the spying equipment you have trained on me, you no doubt realize that money means nothing to me."

"I'm well aware of the fact that you don't want money," Kinoc started, "however, I'm also aware that you need it."

At this, Auron fell silent. Kinoc was indeed correct-Auron was in desperate need of cash. Living from paycheck to paycheck had only worked for so long, but with Tidus's mismanaging of his blitzball salary and Auron netting only peanuts at his job in the bar, they were flat broke. They were two months behind on the rent, and it was very probable that, in the next couple of months, he and Tidus would be evicted from their apartment. Auron knew it was ridiculous, but he refused to sell his corvette, even though he was sure that the money he'd get from it would easily take care of rent for the next five years.

"Honestly Auron, where do you plan on going with this dead-end job of yours?" Kinoc pressed. "You've been working there for over two years, and your total salary there was what you would make here in five months! You're antisocial, dislike the mainstream and people ordering you around. Plus, you're more intelligent than a bartender should be." He stopped. "Come back with me. I need you by my side, both as a friend and an agent."

"I have my reasons for working here Kinoc," Auron said calmly. "As I'm sure you know."

Kinoc sighed, sounding defeated. Then, he spoke again, suddenly sounding very cold and businesslike. "Well, the job is here, and it's got your name on it," he said. "I'll let you have the next few hours to ponder what I've said. You have until 23:00 hours tonight." He sighed. "Take it or leave it."

_*click*_

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.4 ~~~~~**_  
_

__  
Calm Lands Airspace.  
23:47.  
Saturday, November 23.__

About five hundred miles south of Zanarkand, a 767 passenger airliner glided though the crystal clear night sky, barreling northward to the storm-havocked city of the far north. The window shutters were drawn, and only a few dim lights that lined the plane's narrow aisle were alight. Many of the passengers were asleep, curled up under the thin blanket provided by the airline. Pillows were behind heads, on laps and underneath feet. There was no turbulence. The only things that made noise were the huge industrial engines on the vast wings of the plane. Most saw it as white noise, and drifted off into peaceful sleep.

Mostly everybody, that is.

Rikku awoke for the second time on that plane, having just dreamed another in what appeared to be a growing series of nightmares. In addition, she awoke to a throbbing and excruciating pain in her right forearm. She looked down at it to see the huge, bloody scab that had formed there. Ignoring the pain, trembling, she wrapped the airline blanket tighter to herself. The dream she had just had flashed vividly in her mind's eye. Strangely enough, the dream was not a far cry from possible reality. She concentrated on the roar of the engines, willing them to crowd out the terrible nightmare and lull her back into blissful, dreamless sleep, something attainable just the night beforehand.

But not now.

The dream was a twist on the effects of her meeting with the mayor of Bevelle. She certainly wished that she hadn't even agreed to meeting Seymour. The conversation she had with the man would be branded into her memory until the day she died. As it was, she was already apprehensive enough when she first stepped foot into the tower. However, nothing matched the awful conversation that would ensue, far worse than anything the Al Bhed girl expected. Rikku knew that she was an optimist, and this made her slightly naive at times, but she didn't think that any Al Bhed could bear what she did. All she learned or managed to accomplish was that she got a true sense of how Seymour's power and contempt for her people knew no bounds, and she was frightened for them and herself.

Her flashbacks were interrupted by her cell phone vibrating in her lap. She fumbled for the little device, and held it close to her tired eyes so she could see who was calling. It was Cid again; she had been wondering when he would call. Shielding the screen of the phone so that its brightness would not wake the sleeping passengers around her, she clumsily flipped it open and brought the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" She whispered shakily.

"Hey kiddo," her father said softly. "Where are ya?"

"Uh . . . I think we land in about an hour," Rikku said hesitantly. "I'm not sure though." It was refreshing to hear her dad's voice. "How'd your thingie go today?"

Cid chuckled at Rikku's word choice. "Excellent!" He boomed. "And the rest I'm not gonna say. You'd fall asleep on the phone, it was so boring." Rikku managed a laugh at this. "I actually called to find out about your meeting. How'd it go?"

"Well, uh . . ." Rikku started, not really sure what to say.

Her recollection of the meeting had faded in and out of focus over the last few hours despite the dreams, but finally her mind seemed able to lock on to the entire memory of the meeting. She wished it hadn't though. From start to finish, her mind fast-forwarded through her first being greeted by the mayor, the chit-chat that took place, and then the threats . . . the terrible threats. Each worse than the previous. So many of them . . . and she wasn't sure whether or not any of them would become reality. That's what scared her so much.

"Oh pops, it was awful," she finished, her voice cracking. "How could he be so mean? How could he say those things?"

"What things?" Cid asked, sounding surprised.

"He . . . he said that . . . you know, we should just get him before he gets us. How long has it been since we checked Home's defense system? We should start testing them just in case–"

"Hold it!" Cid roared. "I ain't bombing nobody 'till I figure out what the Hell is going on. What did he say, Rikku? Start from the beginning."

Start from the beginning, he said. He was actually asking Rikku to reopen tender wounds. Although, it really didn't matter. She had been swimming in them since she left the Tower, and it might feel better to tell somebody about it. Rikku took several deep, quiet breaths, and looked around her to make sure that she hadn't awoken anybody.

"Is this a secure line?" she asked softly.

"Hah! Of course!" Cid boomed.

Rikku was silent for another minute or so. She could hear Cid breathing on the other end, waiting patiently. "Okay," she finally sighed.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Present minus 13 hours.  
Bevelle.__

Rikku couldn't believe her eyes. The majesticness of Seymour's Mayor Tower far surpassed anything that Zanarkand's skyline held. The tower was made of polished marble and spiraled at least five hundred feet into the sky. Five sections of the tower were caved in at even intervals, as if somebody tightened a huge belt around part of the building. Enormous flags that represented every city hung from the caved sections. Even the city of Home had a flag adorning the tower (although it had been allowed to fade and fray, while the rest of the flags were vibrant and new). At the top, a flag the size of a large house billowed in the breeze- the Flag of the City of Bevelle. It was true– Rikku had seen the flag even as the plane she was on had come in to land on the opposite side of town.

The rain was pouring from the sky. Her umbrella unfurled and situated over her, she continued to gaze up at the immensity of the tower. She was Al Bhed, after all, and the place intimidated her greatly. Zanarkand held very, very little prejudice for her race, so her coming to Bevelle, a city teeming with segregationist ideals, was like being thrown into the lion's den.

Suddenly, the doors to the immense tower opened slowly and ominously. She hesitantly started walking up the steps to the tower, expecting somebody to be greeting her at the door. But nobody came. Psyching herself out and growing slightly fearful, she looked around for any signs of life. Rikku was an observant girl, and noticed almost immediately a little security camera pointed at almost the exact spot in which she was standing. Somebody must have been expecting her on the inside, opening the doors from within the tower. Rikku sighed, hoping some of the apprehension would flow out with her breath, and stepped inside the tower.

The entrance was fashioned live a five-star hotel lobby. The floor and walls were made of polished stone, and there were authentic plants lin every corner. A large stone fireplace was off to the right with sofas, easy chairs and a large circular glass table resting in front. An ornate rug lay beneath the table and chairs; made of native Kilikan cloth. To the left of the fireplace, a grandfather clock was preparing to strike the hour. On the far side of the room, she could see stairs and elevators leading to the recesses of the tower. In the very center of the room was a large circular desk and a surly-looking guard sitting in a large leather desk chair and sipping coffee.

The guard looked up from some paperwork as Rikku entered. "Name?" he asked shortly.

"Uh, Rikku," she said. "I'm here to see the Mayor."

"Right," was all the guard said in reply. "Eleven o'clock, is it?" Rikku nodded. "You're late. The mayor doesn't like it when his guests are late, so you better get moving. Forty-first floor. The elevator goes straight into his private office."

"Thank you," Rikku said in a somewhat small voice, starting to head for the elevator.

"Wait," the guard said stiffly, thrusting a cardboard card the size of a business card at her. "You'll need this to get to his office."

"Thanks," Rikku said. It came out as more of a question than an answer.

She briskly walked away from the desk and crossed the room to the elevators, pushing the up button. As she waited for the elevator to arrive on her floor, she studied the card. It was totally blank on one side, and the other side had only a series of five characters on it: Y 6 I 9 J. It was obviously a code of some kind, but she had no idea where it might come in handy. Just as she began running possibilities through her mind, the elevator pinged and the doors slid open.

Rikku stepped into the elevator and faced the panel of buttons. Buttons one through forty were spaced together so that they formed a square, but the button 41 was blue, and set apart from the rest. She pushed the button. The doors closed, and she felt the familiar pull of gravity as the elevator rose rapidly through the tower. The floor counter went in five-floor increments, so it only took about half a minute for the elevator to reach the 41st floor. The elevator pinged again, but the doors didn't open. Rikku waited, puzzled for several seconds before a computerized sugary voice broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Please insert key card."

Rikku looked above the button that marked the 41s floor, and saw a black slot, about the size of the card which she had been given. There certainly was a lot of security to get to Seymour. He was not a popular man outside of his own city, and she realized that he must be well-aware of that. What with the security camera outside the tower, the guard, and the security card, the mayor was certainly well-protected from his opposition. Rikku pondered this as she inserted the key card and waited several seconds while it was scanned.

"Password confirmed. You are cleared to enter."

Immediately following this, Rikku heard a whirring sound and the sound of paper being shredded. Her mouth fell open. Seymour certainly was cunning in devising his security system. No doubt the password on the cards was also changed at random intervals, but the fact that a key card could only be used once was even more ingenious. The doors suddenly opened, and she stepped out into Seymour's office.

The elevator actually opened into a small hallway that led into the mayor's office. It was lined with pictures of the mayor as well as snapshots of the city and famous events that took place within it. There was a faint light source ahead, and despite the small lights that spaced the hallway every few feet, the hallway was quite dark. She could see that the walls and floor were lined with red felt, and a thin brown carpet covered the floor of the hallway. She slowly followed the carpet when a smooth voice cut into the silence, making her jump.

"Hello, Rikku. I've been expecting you."

She looked sharply to her left, and saw the infamous mayor of Bevelle, Seymour Guado, sitting in an old-fashioned chair next to the wall. He had a warm smile on his face, which to Rikku's great surprise, looked genuine and helped relax her. Seymour was predictably dressed in a suit, mostly black with a white dress shirt underneath the black suit-jacket. A white handkerchief stuck out of his breast pocket, and his shiny black shoes glistened even in the dim light. He was a well and uniquely-dressed man. The only thing that wasn't black or white on him was his silk tie, which was blue. And his baby-blue hair. It clashed horribly with his suit, but then again, blue hair didn't leave many options for suitable dresswear.

Quickly, Rikku glanced around his office. It was easy to tell that they were on the highest floor of the tower, as the ceiling of the office converged to a point high above their heads. A long golden chandelier hung from the vertex of the ceiling. Rikku had to blink twice at the chandelier to make sure she was actually seeing candles in the places where light bulbs usually would be. The walls of the office were made of polished oak. Unlike many mayors, who liked their office to have many windows so that they could see their city around them, Seymour's office had no windows at all. Two trees in enormous pots were tucked away behind the mayor's large desk in the center-back of the room. They framed the huge brown leather chair quite nicely. A rug that encompassed nearly the entire room was centered under Seymour's desk. The rug was a navy blue and was woven with crimson threads.

Seymour sat off to the left, next to a smaller plant. His chair and two others surrounded a small table. Upon the table were two empty mugs and a steaming silver coffee pot, as well as a flickering oil lamp. Little creamers and packets of sugar rested next to the pot. Seymour continued to stare at her as she glanced around his office, and his smile turned into a satisfied smirk. He motioned toward the chair opposite him. Rikku obliged and sat, picking up her coffee mug and testing the temperature of its contents.

"I've had my eye on you a long time, Rikku," Seymour said, getting up. "You've become quite the famous girl now, you know that?"

He paused, pulling a remote from his pocket and walking over to a TV monitor mounted inside his desk which Rikku neglected to see beforehand. Pressing the power button, the TV flicked on. Rikku put her hand over her mouth to stifle a yelp of surprise when she saw several of her baby pictures on the monitor. One when she was just a few minutes old, another of her eating, one of her laughing, and another of her sleeping. The images flashed in chronologic order, Seymour talking all the while.

"Rikku, born the fourteenth of July, 1989, Island of Home. Moved to Zanarkand when you were four, where you attended Alchemy Elementary School in southern Zanarkand until the sixth grade, when you transferred to Braska Middle School one year early because of high academic scores in the field of mechanics and technology. You were the brightest young mind for machina physics until the middle of ninth grade, when your father became Deputy Mayor under his longtime friend and father of your cousin Yuna, Braska. Since that time, you have been home-schooled and have turned into more of an Al Bhed activist than a scholar. Although your long-time dream was to become an engineer back in your hometown, you seem to have neglected your future for a career in political activism, joining with your father in outspoken rhetoric against the city of Bevelle."

Rikku was stunned silent for a minute afterward before she spoke again. "How . . . do you know so much about me?"

"I've had quite some time up here alone to do a little research on the very small group of people whom I choose to meet," Seymour said, smiling and flicking off the TV, which showed a photo of her on her 18th birthday. "As of this moment, that includes you."

"I didn't notice the TV in here," Rikku said, attempting a change of subject. "You've got an interesting . . . er, office."

"Like it?" the mayor asked, nodding. "Please, sit. I have guests so infrequently that I like to make them as comfortable as possible. Coffee?"

She gulped. "Uh, no thanks."

Seymour began to chuckle at her response. It was high-pitched and sounded oddly strained. "Don't worry, girl. Why would I poison you? That would be foolish of me."

"Hey! That's not why I said 'no'!" she lied, trying her hardest to will her face not to flush with embarrassment. Seymour cocked an eyebrow at her, and she began to panic slightly. "But if you want me to so bad, I'll have coffee, sure."

"That's better." He passed her the cup and poured some of the steaming black liquid into it. They sat, sipping their black coffee. In between sips, Seymour spoke again. "How do you like Bevelle, or what you've seen of it?"

"Erm, it's nice . . ." Rikku said, looking at him from behind her coffee mug. She could see him staring into her swirl eyes, and disdain flashed through his own. "Wet, but nice." She glanced around. "It's dark in here."

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "despite the darkness, I can see that you're quite pretty for an Al Bhed. You could pass for an ordinary girl."

Rikku had mentally prepared for this. Cid told her that she should brace herself against the racism of the mayor and take it in stride. It helped the diplomatic process if you were less argumentative, even if you were right in doing so, she had been told. Still, she didn't get called a heathen every day, and it upset her some. Of course, she knew that was what the Yevonites referred to Al Bhed as, and it was considered extremely offensive. However, Rikku minded her father's advice and kept her mouth shut, despite her desire to defend herself.

"You drink it straight? Not many people I know do, Al Bhed or Yevonite," Seymour added.

Rikku welcomed the change of subject. "Yeah . . ." Rikku said, trailing off in thought on how to respond. "It was a long flight." She finally offered tiredly.

"I'm sure," Seymour agreed, smiling again. "I know how tiring long and cramped flights can be. Anyway, I'm sure you didn't travel eight hours just to chat about planes," Seymour said, smirking and folding his arms. "No, our conversation shall be far more interesting. You came to talk peace, and talk peace we shall."

Rikku's spirits leapt. Maybe they had Seymour all wrong. He seemed nice enough, aside from the heathen comment. Maybe, if nothing else, they could negotiate despite their prejudices and past history. Rikku had always heard that he was a stiff and arrogant man who wanted nothing to do with anything outside his own city. But Rikku was getting a different perspective of the man. He seemed to merely be misunderstood. Perhaps they would be able to make peace after all, and, dare she think of it, become friends.

How wrong she was.

"What can we do to find a common ground between us? I mean, I would have nothing against the Yevonites if they didn't have anything against us. Just because we don't believe in your God doesn't mean that we can't get along." She was quite proud of herself, being able to voice her true thoughts against the most racist mayor in Spira's history.

Seymour sighed, smiling again. "I'm impressed," he said. "Yet what you speak of is simply a fantasy of an ideologic teenage girl. As long as there is no spiritual unity, there can be no cultural unity. You know that as well as I."

"Why not?" Rikku said. "Are we a threat?"

Seymour scowled. "Hardly," he snarled. "If you were to rise in opposition against us, Home would be wiped clean off the map in less than a week."

Rikku recoiled. "I didn't mean a threat, like, in war," she said. "I meant, uh . . . culturally. We use machines, we don't believe in Yevon, and we choose a different path than tradition. That's a threat to you, isn't it?"

She knew instantly that what she had said was quite the wrong thing to say at that time. Seymour rose from his chair and made to advance at Rikku, who cowered in her chair, but then stopped. He didn't move for several seconds, but then he let out a huge, calming sigh and straightened his tie. Slowly, he walked over to his desk and leaned on it with his hands so that his back was to Rikku and he was facing the far wall. She could hear him doing some sort of breathing exercise to calm himself. Now that she could not see the varicose veins in his face throbbing anymore, she pulled away from the warm and inviting depths of the chair she was sitting in.

"I have a duty to the people of my city," Seymour said slowly and softly, "to do what they wish to the best of my ability. If they even heard a rumor that I was negotiating with a heathen, I would be impeached and maybe even imprisoned by the mayor who would succeed me." He turned to face her sharply. Even in the dim light, she could see the blue lines running across his face. "Do you have any idea, you heathen little girl," she could hear the acid churning with every word he spoke now, "why this cannot be allowed to happen?"

"No," Rikku said. Despite Seymour's furious atmosphere, she was starting to get braver.

"My whole campaign was based on doing something about your race," Seymour said, smiling insanely. "The 'heathen problem,' as I referred to it. You see, the Holy Word of Yevon stipulates that heretics do not have the right to inhabit this land. It is too great for them. They deserve lesser. Both the people of this city and myself cannot just stand by and watch you enjoy, inhabit, and consume a world undeserved."

Rikku shook her head. Now she was getting angry. "Listen you big meanie," she said forcefully, "I came here hoping that we could be friends and work together. But if you keep quoting that stupid book, we can't get anywhere!"

"How dare you criticize the Holy Word!" Seymour shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "I should have you arrested for that!"

"Oh, I don't think you want Zanarkand knocking on your front door," Rikku said, smiling. "If you arrest me, then you will surely anger Pops and the other political people. Then it will be a huge mess that you have to deal with. If you declare war on Zanarkand, both Luca and Home will join the side of Zanarkand, I betcha anything. You haven't exactly rebuilt your bridges with Luca either."

"Zanarkand and Luca can do what they will with me and the city," Seymour said quietly, still leaning against his desk, "after we have destroyed you."

Despite Rikku's bravery, everything that the mayor said had been jerking at her heartstrings. She could feel her facade wavering, about to crumble. Her eyes were growing moist, mostly out of hurt and fear, but also out of frustration. She knew that any hopes of negotiating had vanished with the steam of her undrunk coffee. Seymour needed to be killed. He needed to be killed soon, if she was to save her race. She knew how to do it; she had hidden a plastic knife on her leg underneath her dress, just in case she needed it for self-defense in the city. Shoving her conscience's voice aside, she reached in her dress and whipped out the knife, holding it for Seymour to see.

Seymour didn't move or flinch at the sight of the knife. Rather, he smiled. "Going to kill me?" he whispered. "Even though, in doing so, you would be risking any hope for future peace after I'm gone? Risking war between Bevelle, Home and Zanarkand? Because you're right, Rikku– there will be war. Millions will die. The question you should ask yourself now is: is it worth it to you?"

Rikku heard his words, but didn't pay attention to them as she slowly walked toward the mayor. His death would mean a hard choice. If he remained alive, millions would die. If he were killed, thousands would die. Either way, it was a very tough choice for the girl to make. But it was surely for the best. Kill the mayor, and save her people. Let him live, and risk the death of her friends, family, and people. It was surely worth it . . . wasn't it?

"You know that, even if you kill me, I'll be replaced by somebody with an identical agenda," Seymour added. "After all, I chose Tromell to be my deputy mayor for a very good reason." He sighed.

"Seymour, be quiet," Rikku snapped, stopping inches from the mayor. "This is your one last chance to change your mind."

Seymour smiled again and bent down to whisper in her hear. "No, I believe it is yours."

Rikku raised the knife above her head. Seymour eyed the knife, and Rikku saw a flicker of fear cross the man's eyes. But she didn't move after that. The knife rested in her hand, held high above her head. Her mind was processing fifty different things at the moment, weighing them on a scale of whether or not to strike Seymour down. The vindication. The risk. The turmoil. War. Death. How would things balance out? The knife didn't move, although, Rikku was having a tough time holding it steady, and her hand began to shake.

She struck, the knife making a whoosh as it cut the air. Seymour didn't flinch, but closed his eyes. He made peace with his God and was ready to accept death and the pain that came with it. But he felt nothing. No searing pain in his chest, no feeling of impalement by Rikku's knife. Instead, he heard Rikku scream. Surprised, he opened his eyes. The knife was sticking out of Rikku's right forearm, and he could see her crimson blood collecting around the area where the blade met her soft flesh. Gritting her teeth, she wrenched the knife out, screaming again with its release. Blood flowed more freely now, running down her arm and dripping onto Seymour's elegant rug. Neither noticed though, as Rikku held her arm up to Seymour's face.

"Look at it," she said quietly, fighting off the feelings of stabbing pain that her nerves were pulsing to her brain. "I bleed, just like you. And that means that I'm human, just like you. It's warm, just like yours." Seymour said nothing, but merely eyed the thin red liquid lines running down Rikku's arm and hand. "And I bet if I were to stab you like this, you'd bleed, just like me." She squeezed the wound. More blood flowed out and dripped onto the floor. "I'm just so confused," she said shakily. "When we can both see that my blood and yours are the same color, why are we so different?"

Seymour said nothing. His eyes did not move from the spidery red lines on her arm, branching out from the center that was the painful-looking slash on her arm. She looked up at him one last time before turning on her heel and walking out of Seymour's office. All the while, she heard nothing behind her, not even the mayor's breathing. He hadn't moved. Why, she didn't know. Her body seemed to be working independently of her mind as her legs carried her to the elevator. Her finger pressed itself to the down button on the elevator. Her legs walked forward and turned around so that she could press the button that would close the elevator doors. She heard them, subconsciously, slide smoothly shut. However, the elevator remained motionless, as she had not pressed the button that would take her to the ground floor.

Instead, she walked to the far corner, and, clutching her injured forearm, sunk to the floor and sobbed.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.4 ~~~~~**

_  
_Present_

It took Rikku over half an hour to recount her meeting with Seymour, including the frequent pauses she took to collect herself. Cid listened on the other end of the line, hardly saying a word during the whole conversation with the exception of the occasional "uh-huh" and "yeah". By the time Rikku was finished, she could barely even say a word. She was totally drained of just about everything, energy, hope, and tears. Cid and Rikku just held their phones to their ear, both hearing nothing but silence for at least a minute. Finally, Cid spoke up.

"That son of a bitch," was the first thing he said. Rikku coughed, laughing a little. "Well, I'm sorry. I should never have asked you to do that for me. I should have known it would be too much for you."

"Yeah, you should have," Rikku said softly, hiccuping.

Cid was silent, not knowing what to say in response. "I'll let you go," he finally said. "We can talk more once you arrive at the Mansion. "For now, you should sleep before you have to land."

"There isn't enough time," Rikku replied. "We land in less than half an hour, and I should be going anyway. You know . . . the 'no technology' thing on landing."

"Yeah," Cid said. "Well, you take care kid. I'll see you on the ground. Bye."

"Bye," Rikku said the word so softly that she thought she just mouthed it.

For the rest of the flight, she didn't move, speak, or think anything. She just sat there and existed. Was it trauma? Rikku was generally a very happy person, and knew that her personality would triumph over today's events. How much time it would take, she didn't know. But she hoped it would only be a few days. All she remembered thinking during the remainder of the flight was how happy she was to see the glow of Zanarkand's city lights. After that, she remembered nothing. Whether she just zoned out or fell asleep, Rikku didn't know. The next thing she remembered after seeing the orange clouds in the night sky was touching down in Zanarkand International Airport.

Twenty minutes later, she began to exit the plane. Her legs were weak. Her eyes were bloodshot, but somehow, she trudged on in that beautiful dress of hers. Her life, and figure, was full of ironies. Such a gorgeous girl with red eyes and a large red hash on her right arm. And a look of such utter sadness that it would find a home in an art museum. She only felt remotely happy at having returned to her home city, and she faintly welcomed the sight of the airport, and all the people gathered around in the black chairs, waiting for their opportunity to board the plane, which Rikku saw was heading back to Bevelle.

Had she paid closer attention, she would have noticed a man in an odd red trenchcoat sitting next to a young woman with a pale face, dressed in black.

* * *

Alright. We conclude chapter four.

Please be sure to check my bio for regular updates. As incentive, within all the gibberish, you will find my **Story Statistics Section**, which shows progress on the next chapter of my stories, etc. You will find the progress on chapter five being updated regularly (at least once every ten days). In addition, you will find all sorts of other information there that you may find interesting.

And speaking of appreciation, I would love to see it all from you, my readers, in the form of a review. Even if it's bad. Anyway, until I update next, I bid you all adieu.

SirGecko


	5. The Name of the Game

Hello again, everyone. To start, for those of you who don't like an insanely long read, you get a break this time. Four pages shorter than chapter four, number five is 14 1/2 pages long. Still a sizeable read, a happy medium that I think could please anybody.

Chapter five is inching us ever closer to something big, and it's also one of my better chapters, I think. It features Auron, Tidus, Yuna, Maechen and Paine. Auron makes a life-changing decision, and readers get an in-depth glimpse at why Tidus is the way he is. Paine gets thrown in for some serious irony, and Yuna is featured for further irony. I seem to be following a trend, don't I?

Alright, now onto a little piece of honesty. An anonymous reviewer showed up and left a less than nice comment which I deleted. It wasn't deleted for the fact that it was negative in nature, but it was criticism that had no support or examples to back it up. The day it was submitted, I looked at my hit count for this story and deduced that he had only read the first chapter. Personally, I equate this to reviewing a movie after seeing the preview. So, a request to all readers: if you're going to leave criticism, please leave constructive criticism that's concrete and solid, not some two-liner that says something to the effect of, "You suck. This is crap." after only reading the first chapter (or part of it). Thank you.

Next thing, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

**_This story continues to be rated M for mature, and this chapter in particular contains strong language and sexual references. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken. _**

Alright, that's it. I'm done talking now. Enjoy chapter five, everybody.

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**Chapter 5: The Name of the Game  


* * *

**

_  
_Zanarkand, Apartment 202.  
22:48.  
Saturday, November 23. __

Indigo smoke curled around Auron's face as he took a drag off of the cigar he had gripped between his index and middle finger. It obscured his view of the newspaper that he held in his other hand. Incidentally, it was the same paper he had read cover to cover a few hours ago at the bar (with the exception of the sports, home and cultural section). The paper was open to an article about the city legislature's debate over water rates and whether they should be lowered this winter because of massive water flow. Auron's eyes glanced over the black text of the article without actually reading what was written. Rather, his mind was elsewhere.

_Take it or leave it_.

Wakka was correct in saying that some things were certainly easier said than done. People saw Auron as a man of many things, and that included being stubborn. Auron, however, preferred to think of it as strongly principled. It was a poor excuse of a euphemism, he knew, but it was truth. For the last four hours, two sides of Auron's complex mind had been waging a bitter war with each other, taking sides over Kinoc's simple offer. One side said that Auron's whole life was based around the personal principles he followed, and one of those principles included leaving the SIA far behind, in a tucked-away corner of his brain, never having anything to do with the organization again. The other half of the conflict was the part of him that said that there was no other way Auron could continue to live like this and still pay the outrageous rent on his and Tidus's apartment.

'If only that damn kid were more responsible,' he thought.

Auron knew that it wasn't Tidus's obligation to help with the rent. However, it certainly would have been nice, considering that Tidus got an equal amount of pay per blitzball game as Auron did working at the bar for four months. Even so, Tidus was 19 years of age, two years away from being allowed on his own. Besides, the boy was far too unwise and irresponsible to be able to manage on his own. In truth, if it were Auron's decision, he would have kicked Tidus right out the door after his 18th birthday, which was allowed in Luca and Home. But Auron, was strongly principled, and he had to look out for him for another two years. He kept his promises, especially those he made to his old friend.

The older man sighed and ran a gloved hand over his salt and pepper hair. The manager of the bar had told him jokingly that Auron got one more gray hair for every customer who gave him a hard time. Auron had shrugged in response and continued making the cocktail he had been working on, but he knew his manager was right. The man was in his early forties, and even though that was considered middle age, Auron had a nagging feeling that there were fewer days ahead than there were behind.

He sighed, and took another draw off the cigar. He used to be a more frequent smoker back when he worked for the Agency, but he had cast that aside with his job as well. Besides, he knew it was such a poor habit; it was probably best that he quit for his own health. Now, he dragged out his box of cigars only once a year: his birthday, March 16th. However, since tonight was most assuredly another day out of the ordinary, he felt he could make an exception. Smoke curled out of nostrils in a serpentine motion as he slowly exhaled the tobacco. He had forgotten just how good an annual cigar could feel at times.

Auron shook his head, disgusted for no apparent reason, and smashed the cigar into the ashtray next to the recliner he was currently occupying. He didn't think he should be smoking at all, let alone now. It didn't do anything to make his decision easier. He was faintly aware of a nagging feeling that he knew what his decision would be from the instant he laid the telephone down at the bar. Still, if there was one thing that discomforted the man, it was straying outside of the protection of his strict personal principles. The face of Jecht kept knocking at his memory's door as well. However, Auron cast these feelings of unease aside, nodded and made a 'hmph' noise, an acknowledgment he always made when he had made up his mind.

He would do the mission.

Auron folded his paper and laid it on the ground next to the recliner he was sitting in. He got up slowly from the chair and made his way over to the cordless phone resting on the counter. The apartment was dark, partly because the light was dim to begin with, and also because he was still wearing his sunglasses. Since his accident with a flashbang grenade, he had always been sensitive to even the weakest light, and therefore wore dark sunglasses, even at night. All the same, he wore them low on his roughly chiseled nose so that he could see over them when the need arose. Otherwise, the glasses never left his face except when he slept.

The phone was old, the white text on each button worn off so that Auron had to rely on memory in order to punch the correct button combination for Kinoc's old private line. The phone was much like Auron's apartment and everything in it: worn and ready to be replaced. In the living room, the old arm chair he had just gotten out of, once a creamy beige, was faded and nearly threadbare in some places. An old TV rested just in front of the chair so that Auron could flip on the news when he wished. The rug in the living room was also quite worn and faded, and the old sofa creaked when one sat in it and was ripped slightly in several places. Two coffee tables, the wood badly dented and needing another coat of finish, rested in front of the sofa and next to Auron's chair. The ceiling fan no longer worked, and the windows were old and sometimes rattled on a very windy night.

Open to the living room was the kitchen, which was extremely tiny. Big enough only for a small fridge, a stove, microwave, a small sink and a few square feet of counter top on which Auron prepared his meals, it could hardly be called a good place to cook. The cabinets where all the dishes and glasses were stored were cramped and fit only a few glasses, bowls and plates. Auron could almost stand in the middle of the kitchen floor and reach virtually anything he wished.

However, despite the shabbiness of the apartment, Auron made a conscious effort to keep the place clean. The carpet was spotless, the floor was free of snack packages Tidus forgot to throw away, the old windows were not grimy, and the linoleum was shiny and clean. Even the old tables had been wiped down, free of the stains caused by pop, pizza and other assorted junk foods. There was very little dust coating the TV and other appliances. Auron figured that, at the very least, he could make up for the dilapidation by making the place tidy. Of course, Tidus did nothing to help. He was usually upstairs rocking to heavy metal, playing video games, talking to girls, or all of the above. Auron and Tidus rarely saw each other, and when they did, they didn't talk much to each other. Both had mutually decided that this was wise, as they would usually end up fighting.

Auron sighed, looked at the phone panel and punched the number to Kinoc's cellular line. Auron knew that the direct line to his office required a six-digit passcode that was changed every month. Since Auron hadn't worked there for considerably longer and Kinoc had neglected to give him the code during their earlier conversation, Auron only assumed that he could be reached by cell. He just hoped that his cell number hadn't been changed. The phone rang once before Auron knew that he had assumed correctly.

"Kinoc." The voice was emotionless and professional.

"This is Auron speaking," the man said. "I'll do the mission." Auron was always one to get straight to the point. He wasn't much of a fan of conversing over the phone in the first place.

"Excellent!" This time, Kinoc sounded much more animated and cheerful. "It's 23:00 now. Shit, you sure know how to stretch something thin, don't you?"

"Time is important to me," Auron said. "I take as much of it as I need."

Kinoc said nothing on this. Instead, he responded, "I'll send a car over right away, and he'll brief you on the mission during your trip to the airport."

"I have a question," Auron said, disliking the feeling of being rushed. "How long can I expect to be gone?"

"Assuming shit doesn't happen, which it shouldn't, you should be back in Zanarkand within 36 hours." Auron grunted, which Kinoc knew to mean 'okay.' "Your equipment will be in the car as well. Expect the car in fifteen minutes. Your paycheck will be on your kitchen countertop when you return."

"Fine," Auron said. "And Kinoc," Auron added, just before the SIA director had a chance to hang up, "this is it. One mission, then I'm done. I don't want to hear from you again."

"Scott's Honor, my friend," Kinoc laughed. "Good luck." He hung up.

Just as Auron dropped the receiver back in its cradle, the front door banged open, and Tidus walked into the living room. He wasn't stoned or drunk as was sometimes the case, Auron noticed, but the boy seemed out of it. Distant, almost. Tidus didn't even notice Auron standing in the kitchen, watching, until he had reached the old and rickety staircase leading up to his room. By this time, Auron had walked back to his recliner and seated himself, picking up a small booklet full of complex crossword puzzles. Tidus only turned around when he heard the floor creak underneath Auron's footsteps.

"I'm leaving in fifteen minutes, and won't be back until the 25th," Auron said curtly, opening the book to the page he had dog-eared. "Mind the apartment while I'm gone."

Tidus stared at Auron as though he were a moron. "What day is it today?" he said.

"The day before tomorrow, and the day after yesterday," was all Auron said as he started a crossword.

"What the fuck man!" Tidus shouted. "How the fuck am I supposed to know what fucking day it is? Just tell me already!"

"It's the twenty-third. I'll be back in two days," Auron said. "Late, I might add. You can bring over whomever you want, but if this place is trashed when I get back, then your phone and I-pod are going to be likewise."

"Sure, sure, whatever," Tidus said as he wheeled around on his heel and started up the stairs. "Dick," he muttered under his breath. Auron didn't hear him; he was already immersed in another crossword puzzle.

Tidus shook his head as he reached the minuscule hallway that led to his equally minuscule room. The door to his room loomed into view once he flicked on the upstairs light. There was a large poster on his door that mimicked the disclaimer on many of his CDs: "Parental Advisory: Explicit Lyrics." He opened the door and flopped down onto his bed in hardly a graceful manner. He was beat. A three-hour blitzball practicing session for their game tomorrow against the Al Bhed Psyches, followed by two hours of clubbing with his buddy and fellow teammate Wakka, left him quite drained. Even though Tidus managed to receive six phone numbers, he had been slightly distracted while he was there. For reasons which he failed to understand at the moment, his mind kept wandering back to his meeting with Yuna tomorrow.

Tidus cranked the bass on his stereo to near-maximum levels so that the entire apartment would shudder and popped in a rap CD that he often listened to unwind (the bass also pissed off Auron, which was another plus). It was truly odd; Tidus would almost call the feeling one of apprehension. Anyone who had been around Tidus for longer than an hour knew that he was a magician when it came to charming the ladies. Always playing it cool, he had no fears of rejection, knew all the right things to say, and was what any girl would call "hot." If Tidus wanted to get them in a bed, he could do so in a very short period of time. After that, the girl and Tidus would likely never speak again, because Tidus would shift his attention to yet another girl and blow the previous one off completely. The cycle would be repeated.

Such was the way a popular, athletic and abused Zanarkand teenager worked.

There were three people whom Tidus knew or did know that he loathed: his father Jecht, Auron, and Kinoc. The majority of Tidus's hatred went toward Kinoc; however most anybody who saw Tidus would think it was Auron. In reality, the least of these three evils was the aforementioned man. It was just because Tidus lived with him that people saw the way their relationship (or lack thereof) stood.

Jecht, Tidus's late biological father, were a raging alcoholic and a sad excuse of a father. He never really knew how to raise a son, so he taught Tidus the only things that he did know how to do: drink, yell, ridicule, taunt and screw around. Although it was true that Jecht had never physically abused his son, the emotional and psychological damage that had been to Tidus through the taunting and demeaning was, in some ways, far worse than any beating. Of course, everyone but Tidus could offer you this detailed analysis of Tidus's anger. The boy, of course, just knew that Jecht was better off dead than alive.

If Jecht was the person that wouldn't leave Tidus alone, then Auron was on the other side of the extreme. Auron simply pretended, for the most part, that the boy didn't exist. Nine times out of ten, the only time that either conversed was when Auron reminded him to be civil or he would screw with Tidus's stuff, at which time Tidus would say "sure" and then walk away cursing Auron until he was winded and couldn't swear anymore. Auron didn't care about socializing with Tidus much, and the feeling was mutual with Tidus. It wasn't that Auron disliked Tidus as a person. The teenager knew that Auron was a man who was socially uncomfortable around children and therefore disliked them. He disliked teenagers even less, though for entirely different reasons. Auron had only become Tidus's legal guardian as a final promise to Jecht, the one good friend the old man ever had.

Naturally, Tidus needed somebody to blame for both Jecht's and Auron's massive faults. Therefore, the only person whom Tidus could think of was Kinoc. For Tidus, the connection, causes and effects were simple. Both Jecht and Auron had been consumed by their jobs at the SIA. And, for Jecht, that obsessiveness had cost him his life. Auron was equally involved in the inner workings of the agency. The place changed a man. After stepping through the halls of the SIA for your first day of work, you were never the same again. Even after Jecht's death and Auron leaving the agency, Auron's personality still reflected that of a high-level government official – humorless and emotionless. Kinoc virtually trained both men personally. Therefore, he was easy for Tidus to blame.

'That son of a bitch fucked everything,' he thought angrily. 'Fuck him.' He was wound up from his nerves and thoughts of his father. ' Dammit, now I'm pissed. Time to fix this.'

A large, blue and yellow glass water bong sat on the far end of the table. It was slightly transparent, and stood about eighteen inches tall. There were ice cubes still left over from earlier in the day, he noted as he pulled the piece toward him. As the rap beat blared in his ears, he reached over to his windowsill and grabbed a small bag of marijuana. He loaded the bowl about halfway full and pulled out his lighter, toasting about half the bowl with one toke. As long as he could, he held in the smoke, thoroughly enjoying the dense layer of fog that flowed into his head. Slowly he exhaled, watching smoke shoot out from his nose and mouth and form a dark haze around his ceiling light.

The nerves were gone.

His cell phone, resting on the little table by his single-wide bed, began to ring. Tidus had a heavy metal song for his ringtone, and he could hear the little speaker straining to not blow out against the volume at which Tidus had set the ringer. He needed it that high in case he played loud music. He paused his rap CD picked up the phone to see who was calling. He had umpteen numbers stored in his phone, so he could very well not recognize it even if he had put it in his database. However, the number that showed up was not one Tidus could even recall seeing at all. He picked up the phone nonetheless and flipped it open.

"Yo, Tidus."

"Uh, hi!" The voice at the other end of the line said. "This is Sheila, the girl at the bar."

"Oh shit," Tidus said, sounding surprised and suddenly remembering the busty brunette whom he had met a few hours earlier. "'Sup? What's going on?" Tidus could hear giggling in the back ground. 'Fucking girls,' he thought, smiling. 'Always have to do everything in packs.'

"Oh, well, um . . ." she said, giggling herself, "me and a couple of my friends were wondering what you were doing tonight. I thought we could have a party of our own."

Tidus knew what she was hinting at. "Sure thing," he said smoothly. "Where you guys at? We'll hook up."

"At my house," Sheila purred. "I already gave you the address, remember? Oh, this is Destiny, Alexis and Maria," she said. Calls of "Hey there!" and "Hi!" were heard in the background.

"'Sup?" Tidus said in response. More giggling. "Well, all right. I'd bring a friend who can drive, but my old man's leaving soon, so I'll just borrow his Corvette."

The sentence worked like magic, and the best part was that it was all true. "Ooh, rich boy! Even better," Sheila cooed.

"Yup," Tidus said. Okay, one lie, no big deal. "Fuck yes, it stopped snowing. The road-scraper dudes should be done by now." More giggling. "All right, well, see you hotties in a few." He flipped the cell phone off. "Score!" He said to himself, getting up from his bed and turning off the radio.

It just so happened that his shoes were by the window. As he slipped them on, he saw a car pull up and stop in front of their apartment. Even to Tidus, who didn't give two shits about who came and went, thought this odd. He had naturally assumed that Auron wanted some time to himself and was going elsewhere of his own free will. This didn't seem to be the case, however, for Tidus saw a well-dressed man, the driver, stepped smoothly out of the small black car. The man's approaching the doorstep caused the motion-detecting porch light to flick on. At this, Auron appeared on the doorstep and shook hands briefly with the man, then began to follow him to the car. Tidus, who had very good vision, could now see a small insignia inscribed on the back of the man's shirt as he rounded the car.

SIA.

"No fucking way," Tidus said to himself, feeling his blood start to heat rapidly.

It was the one thing both he and Auron could agree on: hatred of the SIA. But now, even that seemed to be changing. There certainly wasn't enough weed in his system for him to be so stoned that he didn't care. He jammed his other shoe on his foot and raced downstairs, taking them three at a time.

He raced for the front door and wrenched it open, bounding down the stoop. "You fucking old man!" he shouted at the car, whose engine had just started. Auron was already in the car. Tidus wasn't sure whether or not Auron could hear him, but at that point, he didn't care. "Going back to that fucking place! Screw you, you fucking bastard! Go ahead and get fucking killed while you're gone, see if I give a shit!"

Auron, of course, heard none of this. He didn't even see Tidus bound out the door screaming at the top of his lungs. The driver shifted into first gear and gunned the engine, spinning out on the icy road before gaining control and roaring away from the small apartment. The snowball that Tidus had scooped from the ground missed the car by a good five feet as it tore down the street. He chased the car for several seconds before giving up and punching the snow in disgust.

"Why do I even care what that old fuck does?" He spat at nobody in particular, turning around and walking back toward his apartment. "I don't. I hate his fucking guts." He nodded.

'Or do I?'

Where the fuck did that come from?

Tidus shook any thoughts of hesitation from his head and bounded through the door leading back inside the apartment. He bounded upstairs and began to blast his CD again upon entering his room. Smoking the rest of his bowl, he quickly loaded another and fired his lighter to take another hit, but stopped. Even he was smart enough to realize that one more would really make driving difficult. He knew Auron would throw him out, promise or not, if that car was damaged in any way. He was beginning to calm down anyway. The adrenaline was fading and the fog in his mind beginning to thicken.

Quickly, he ran to the bathroom to brush his teeth, shave and spray some cologne. Bounding back to his room, he grabbed his gray sweatshirt from his bed before going back downstairs to retrieve the key to Auron's corvette from the little safe in the hall.

Auron had a tiny little safe which he kept his Corvette key in to stop burglars, and Tidus, from taking it. But Tidus could be quite sneaky when he wanted to be. From the top of the stairwell, one got an excellent view of the safe, which was in the dead-end hallway on the bottom floor that led to Auron's bedroom. One day, Tidus had gotten into a position so that he could see Auron twisting the combination dial. Peering through a miniature pair of binoculars, Tidus watched intently as Auron opened the safe. Tidus finally had the code– 4 0 4 1 7.

He spun in the correct digits, and sure enough, the safe opened and Tidus reached in and pulled out the shiny silver key. Pocketing it, he rushed upstairs one more time, just to make sure he didn't forget anything. When he had decided that all was okay, he ran back out of his room, but was stopped when he heard his cell phone ring. He cursed and checked his watch. It was already getting late, and as much ass as Tidus could haul in that Corvette, he knew not to risk damaging it in any way, especially when the roads were this icy.

"It's probably Wakka anyway," Tidus muttered to himself as he looked from his cell phone to the stairs. "Fuck it. He can call later."

A few minutes later, Tidus was seated behind the wheel of Auron's corvette. He smiled, feeling the power at his fingertips as the car whirred. With a top speed of 280 mph, this car was meant for street-racing. However, as stated before, Tidus knew not to screw with Auron's car. Not only would Auron practically disown him, but the Zanarkand police would surely have a few words to say as well, for the teenager had no license to drive. Tidus therefore avoided testing the car's true potential.

With the defroster on and slowly working to unfreeze the windshield, Tidus sat back. His mind kept mulling over Auron, shaking the hand of that SIA driver and then getting into the vehicle. It was as if the two years in between had never happened, the times when Auron renounced the SIA and vowed never to return after Jecht's death. So, why was he going back? Was it that Kinoc again? Even though Auron was very much an independent thinker, Kinoc was very persuasive. Give the man ten minutes, and he could convince any politician to spill his darkest and dirtiest secrets to a reporter.

Still, who cares about Auron?

As Tidus slowly backed out of the driveway, he began to think to his rendezvous ahead with those girls, and how much better he would feel after a few drinks, a few bowls and a good screw.

Back up in his bedroom, his cell phone continued to ring.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand Mansion.  
23:53.  
Saturday, November 23. _

"I missed him," Yuna said, putting down the phone. "He must be out practicing tonight."

She sighed, put down the cordless phone that rested on her desk, and let her head rest in her hands, kneading at her eyes with her palms. Her half-finished report on her school visitation glared back at her from the screen on her laptop. Already it was more than twelve pages long, and it had been looked over by Maechen several times, saying that Braska would surely think it was too short. Removing her hands from her face, she rested them on the laptop and began to type again. After another few sentences were added to the report, she rested her head in her hands again. As it were, many things were running through the girl's head. Had Rikku made it back okay? Was she ever going to talk to Tidus before the Blitzball match?

Was she ever going to finish this report?

Rikku had called about two hours earlier from the plane, sounding absolutely awful. It was very rare that anything got her happy-go-lucky cousin down, but whatever did was always major. Yuna did her best to console her friend and told her to wake her up when she got back. However, Rikku did manage a joke in the conversation, and that made Yuna and Rikku feel just a little better. But now, that feeling was wearing off as the night wore on. Perhaps things would get better when she and Rikku talked. But until then, there was the report.

"Oh, forget it," Yuna shouted in frustration to nobody in particular, taking the next two minutes to write out a closing paragraph to the report. "If my father wants something better, he can find it himself." The intercom was right above her desk. She pushed the button underneath and called, "Maechen!"

Yuna's old caretaker entered her room a minute later. "Yes, Lady Yuna? Did you manage to finish your report?"

"I did," Yuna said shortly. "It's not as long as you wanted it, but I don't care. Send it to my father anyway, please."

"I personally don't care how long it is, my dear," Maechen said, smiling through his white moustache and neatly-trimmed beard. "However, I do believe that Mayor Braska will have some objections to a report of this length." He gestured to the computer screen.

Yuna sighed irritably. "Well then, you can just tell Mayor Braska," she stressed her father's title sardonically, "that he's going to have to grin and bear it. I'm done. That's it. If he so insists, have him make time out of his ever-busy schedule to actually come and talk to me about it." She said the last sentence with such disdain that she even surprised herself.

Maechen was quite taken aback. "Well . . . certainly, Yuna. I'll tell him then," he said, awkwardly gathering up the report that had just printed and walking stately toward the door. As he was about to exit, however, he turned around and faced Yuna, who had begun to undress and get in bed for the night. "Tell me, miss . . . is something the matter?"

"Just go away, okay?" Yuna said tiredly, not turning around to look at him as she shed her dress. "I need time to myself."

Maechen ignored her, standing motionless with the forgotten report in his hand as he watched the teenager slip on her nightgown and slide into her four-poster bed. The light was off, but he was sure that he could see Yuna laying there, eyes open, not as tired as she pretended to be. He had known Yuna long enough to know that when she said, "Go away," it meant that she really wanted to talk. Maechen had seen the toll that being part of a high society had on Yuna. It made some arrogant, others greedy, others lazy, sometimes even a combination of the three. But for Yuna, it depressed her, isolated her. In the months that passed since Braska had taken office as Mayor, Yuna had grown increasingly introverted. The problem was that Maechen was the only one who recognized it.

"You didn't go away," Yuna said, a hint of a resigned smile in her voice.

"Something is bothering you, my dear," Maechen said, walking slowly forward and sitting on the edge of her bed. "That means that something's bothering me." He sighed as he scooted further up on the bed so as not to fall. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

Yuna was silent for several minutes, thinking of how to say what she was thinking, or whether she wanted to say anything at all. She pretended that nothing was wrong so often, whether it be in public, around her father or around Rikku, that she found it difficult to explain her feelings when something really was wrong. Rikku and Maechen tried to help so often, but they could do little themselves. It wasn't their fault, really, for both were within the system. She needed somebody else to talk to about her troubles. But as things stood now, Maechen and Rikku were the only confidants she had, therefore they would do for now.

In addition, Yuna was quite frustrated that she saw so little of her father, yet he had time to structure her day for her. Resentment, frustration, confusion . . . she couldn't quite figure out which one she was feeling, or if she felt more than one. All she knew was that with her father's reelection coming up in the middle of the following year, she saw less and less of the man. He was a good person with good intentions, yes, but sometimes he forgot family over familiarity, campaigning seemingly nonstop since last September.

"Why is it that you and Rikku are my only friends, Maechen?" She finally said. "That I can't even find the time to talk to my own dad?" Maechen was silent as he let her continue. "And even then . . . in a way, I have no true 'friends,' per se. Rikku's my relative and you just get paid to be nice to me." The old man bowed his head, hurt. "I'm sorry," Yuna said softly. "I guess I do have you and Rikku, so I must be thankful for that."

"Yuna . . . I really don't know how to answer your question," Maechen said softly. "Your place in this city makes you a very busy young woman, I'm sure you know. It doesn't really leave a lot in your schedule for free time."

"Shit," Yuna sighed. "Pardon me," she added, noticing Maechen's reaction to her language. She hardly ever swore. "It just seems that nothing will get better. It just seems as if nobody can help me anymore. I feel so alone, even with you and Rikku, that I don't know what to do anymore. People think I have it easy, but they're oh so wrong, Maechen. They're oh so wrong!" She took this opportunity to sit up in her bed. "Sometimes I feel like I'd rather be dead, you know? There are worse things, I think."

"Oh my dear, don't say such dreadful things," Maechen admonished gently. "You ultimately hold the choice in the matter. It's your life. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Where do you want to be?"

"I don't know anymore, Maechen," she said, voice merely a whisper now.

"Anywhere but here."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Mt. Gagazet Airspace.  
01:11.  
Sunday, November 24._

Auron heard a ping in the plane, and looked above him to see that the seat belt sign had been turned off. Just the beginning in what was to be a very long and uneventful nine-hour flight to Bevelle. Auron had been furnished with first-class seating, courtesy of the SIA, and he was thankful for the extra leg room and larger seat on a flight such as this. The aisle and side panel lighting had all been turned off for the duration of the flight, and there remained only a few reading lights on. Behind him, a well-dressed businessman was fast asleep, seat reclined and snoring softly with his mouth open. The boy next to the snoring man was playing a card game on the tray table in front of him, yawning as he dealt himself a new round. Across the aisle, the seats were vacant.

Right next to Auron sat a silvery haired girl, no older than 25. However, she seemed much older in demeanor. Her crimson eyes were as cold as a Zanarkand blizzard and not much more welcoming. She appeared quite pretty and well dressed to most, what with her pale complexion and conservative brown lipstick, but Auron did not notice or care. Coincidentally, she was also the same person he had sat next to while they had been waiting to board the plane. As it turns out, they had waited much longer than originally planned due to weather, and were 35 minutes late in getting off the ground. Now, however, Auron could see the peak of Mt. Gagazet penetrating what he knew to be another cloud mass in a wave of nasty snowstorms lined up to hit Zanarkand.

Auron sighed and turned back to the laptop he had been given. The driver of his car had provided him with the computer and a CD containing all of the information he needed to complete his mission. In addition, he had been given a briefcase with a combination lock and touchpad authorization. Auron knew the contents of this briefcase to be the mission objective. In addition, he had been provided with all-access cards to the target building, an electronic computer hacking device, and a security camera jammer. Kinoc had supplied him with a suppressed HK USP Compact 45 pistol as well, even over Auron's protests. He told Kinoc that if the mission really was as harmless as he understood it to be, the gun shouldn't be necessary. All the same, he relented.

The laptop had booted up by this time, and Auron inserted the CD into the laptop's D drive. As Auron waited for the little computer to read the CD, he shifted the tiny pillow he had been supplied with for the flight and put it behind his head. Now, he opened the contents of the disc, which contained the details of his mission. Auron first noted that it was deemed as low-risk in terms of life or death. In summation, all he had to do was to upload the contents of the briefcase onto the computer belonging to the highest-ranking official in the target building. But of course, all was easier said than done. From the verbal briefing he had received from Kinoc over the intercom in the car, security at this building was incredibly tight and literally proven to be failsafe. Essentially, sneaking in was impossible.

Unless you had the SIA giving you a few pointers along the way.

The agency was not the most notorious government office in the land of Spira for nothing. Their technology was state-of-the-art; most people never even knew that half of it existed. The people who worked for the agency were the best of the best, the cream of the crop. Kinoc was the most efficient and tenacious director the agency had seen since the last World War. Agents working for the SIA and under Kinoc knew everything about everybody everywhere– what they were wearing, who they were dating, where they worked, what they had for lunch, and so on and so forth. Even the mayors of some cities were kept in the dark from things that would benefit them and the SIA wanted to keep secret. Of course, everybody knew of the SIA's satellite tracking technology, but they ironically seemed not to care. Kinoc was right when he said that ignorance was bliss.

Before his takeover, the agency had been little more than a joke. The Director was lazy and foolish, the resources of the agency were misused frequently, and SIA mistakes constantly littered the headlines of the morning papers. There was talk of the DASC (Diplomatic Alliance of Spiran Cities) committee forming a joint movement to completely restructure the floundering agency. In fact, one of the reasons the city of Zanarkand had gained so much notoriety was because it was Mayor Braska who suggested appointing Kinoc to the position of SIA director. At that time, Kinoc was Zanarkand's Defense Minister and had the best efficiency record in the history of the city. Since Kinoc assumed the position of SIA director three years ago, the Agency went from being a laughable hodgepodge of incompetency to a well-oiled and efficient collective entity, becoming both famous and infamous in the span of just six months.

Auron finished reading over the written briefing, making mental notes of anything important. The man was blessed with an eidetic memory; he could remember virtually anything he read, no matter how insignificant. The mission was fairly easy once he got into the building, but it was the act of actually getting in that was the challenge. However, Auron wasn't the best for no reason. He had faced far more complicated missions back when he worked full-time for the SIA. The most difficult one, in fact, was the last one he ever performed. And the last one that Jecht performed.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Three years previous  
Bikanel.  
21:36.  
Monday, June 4,2005.  
_  
"Get down!"

BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM.

"FUCK!"

"JECHT!"

The sound of retreating footsteps echoing in the alley. The sound of a man collapsing to a large puddle of water. The sound of a pistol clattering to the asphalt.

The sounds of a dying man.

All Auron could do was watch as the puddle grew slowly larger. All he could do was watch as Jecht mustered all his strength to roll and face him. All he could do was watch as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a fountain of liquid.

"Take . . . care of . . . him."

Auron reached for the pistol, prepared to run after the gunman, when Jecht said his final word. "Tidus . . ."

The gun fell out of Auron's hands simultaneously with Jecht's head. Both men were still.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.5 ~~~~~**

_Present_

"Are you all right?"

Auron was jarred from the past by a sharp voice from his right. He turned and saw the girl he was sitting next to looking at him with mild curiosity. Auron shook his head, as though doing so would cause the thoughts of his past to fly out of his head like foggy wisps. How long he had spaced out, he didn't know. But it couldn't have been more than five minutes, as his laptop battery still had most of its life left. He tilted his head and studied the girl who, even in only speaking three words to him, definitely seemed much older than she really was. She was probing him with her sharp and discerning eyes, but Auron had always been a difficult person to read, even without the sunglasses. He could tell she didn't get very far.

"Yes."

"Good. I was about to call the stewardess."

"Is that so?"

"Mm hm. It looked as though you were having a seizure."

Certainly Auron's memories of his final mission were no less pleasant than a seizure. In fact, he would have preferred the latter, in some ways. However, such was not the case, for here he was now, sitting on a luxury passenger 787 jet liner, talking to a complete stranger and bound on a mission for an Agency which he had condemned long ago. He had always found it fascinating, the paths along which a person was led in life. Often, one's life would turn down unseen roads.

"Well, I'm quite fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Sure." She smiled. It was as cold as her eyes, but not out of malice. It seemed more of a habit. "Drink?"

"No."

Running on only four hours of sleep in the last two days, Auron was quite exhausted. With more than eight hours left on this flight, he had hoped that he could get some sleep before he had to do the mission the following night. Even though he had all of the next day to sleep as well, he never was apt at taking naps, especially when there was still daylight outside. If there was one thing he did like about the city of Zanarkand, it was the shortness of the days. At this time of year in Bevelle, however, there was nine hours of daylight as opposed to five hours in Zanarkand, so there wasn't much time in the way of sleep for Auron once he got to Bevelle. He would have to catch up on the plane. However, with this girl talking to him, that would be difficult.

"The quiet type, aren't you?" the girl said. "So am I."

"You don't seem to be."

She looked mock-hurt. "Well, when I'm in business, I'm quite different, I assure you." Auron said nothing, but the girl did not care. "So, you visiting or going home?"

"Visiting, I suppose," Auron said shortly. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose so that the scar over his right eye was obscured. It twitched. "Why?"

"Making sure you weren't crazy," the girl said. "You're a whole different type of person if you live in Bevelle, especially if you're a lifer." Auron said nothing once again. "But I have to travel, and unfortunately, sometimes those travels take me to Bevelle."

"Why?" Auron asked again.

"Business," she said. "Why else?" She paused, as though trying to figure out how to phrase something very difficult. "My job demands that I know everything about one person," said the girl. "Names, addresses, phone numbers, friends. In my line of work, that sort of thing is very important."

"Telemarketer," Auron muttered.

"Quite the contrary," the girl said. "I'm a mercenary. It's more humane."

This caused Auron to actually laugh, something he rarely did when somebody told a joke. Of course, he had thought that all of what the girl said was a joke. The girl laughed with him. It was feather light and pleasant, quite contrary to her steely demeanor. Life was full of surprises.

"Paine," the girl said, extending her hand. Her expression went from giddy to deadly calm and serious faster than one could blink.

"Auron," the man said, politely shaking her hand. "Excuse me." He took a moment to shut down his laptop before Paine started asking more questions.

"So, can I buy you a drink or are you going to be a stiff about it?" She demanded. Before the man could answer she halted the stewardess who was passing and said, "I'll take a Bloody Mary and . . ." she glanced at Auron expectantly.

"Just a juice," he said, not looking up from where he was putting away the laptop. She scowled, but got him a grape juice all the same. "Thank you," Auron said.

"My pleasure," Paine replied. "I like to be drunk by the time I land. Makes the ride go by faster."

"Hmph," was all Auron said.

After their drinks came, they did not speak for the remainder of the entire flight. Auron was too busy sipping his juice and typing up a report on the laptop (which he had retrieved once again) to pay any attention to conversing with Paine. However, the younger girl seemed not to mind. She got out a palm pilot and tapped the screen several times with the stylus. Chuckling, she put the pilot away before practically chugging her drink and calling for another. She stretched, feeling her silver pistol poke her hip. She discreetly fidgeted so that the gun rested more comfortably at her side. It was as if the gun was reminding her of its presence, so she didn't become too careless with her words. She smirked slightly and glanced at Auron, who did not notice.

Auron finished typing up his report and once again put his laptop away. He reclined the seat about a foot (quite a bonus feature in a plane) and was just getting settled in to sleep away the remaining hours on the plane when he felt the cellular phone he had been given vibrate in his pocket. Auron inclined the seat again and pulled out the cell phone so he could see who was calling. Just as it was before, a moment's peace was rare when working for the SIA. It was Kinoc.

"What?" He snapped, flipping open the phone and jamming it to his ear. He was careful not to use names in the conversation in case his phone was tapped.

Kinoc seemed not to notice his tone of voice. "Sorry to bother you," he began, not sounding sorry at all, "but I was just calling to check in and make sure everything is okay."

"You've never done that before," Auron said skeptically. "Is there something you're not telling me that I should know about?"

"Absolutely not," Kinoc lied. "I would never keep you in the dark about mission details. However, once you're in Bevelle, I'll be talking to you via the bug in your ear. Cell phones are too easily tracked, and I can't risk anybody having any knowledge of this operation."

"So, you called me up with short notice for a mission that apparently holds unparalleled importance for reasons you can't explain," Auron said. "If it were for anything but the money, I'd quit here and now."

Kinoc chuckled. It was rather sinister. "You wouldn't be the first, my friend," he said. "Just remember: anything can happen. At anytime, and anywhere." Then he laughed. "Even Zanarkand."

"What's your point?" Auron said.

"Expect the unexpected, Auron," Kinoc sighed. For some reason, he sounded remorseful. "That's all I'm trying to say. Have a nice flight."

"Hmph," Auron said again. "Call me in Bevelle. I want to spend as little time as possible in that place."

Auron was about to hang up when more noise came from the other end of the line. Kinoc laughed at Auron's comment. "Zanarkand . . . it's an interesting place. It's a place where the impossible is achieved, the unimaginable is conceived . . . and where the unthinkable is realized."

With that, Kinoc hung up the phone. The man always had a twisted sense of humor, and that included being cryptic about his true intentions for people and plans. In the past, Auron had grown used to it. However, the man was uncomfortable dealing with unknowns, and there certainly were plenty of those in this mission. More than the mission itself, there was the reason for being called up by Kinoc in the first place. Why Auron? Certainly there were other agents equally as competent as he was. He had made it crystal clear what he thought of his old friend and mentor, as well as the way he ran his agency. Even Auron, a man who was always contemplating unknowns, was much too tired to continue doing so tonight. He thought nothing more of it, reclining the chair and drifting off into dreamless sleep.

He had no idea that, in less than ten hours, the city of Zanarkand would forever change.

* * *

Well, a little cliffhanger was in order, I thought. Emphasis on little.

Anyway, keep an eye out for chapter six, which will introduce a solid plot and explore the morality of corruption and deceit. And as always, please share your thoughts on this story in a review. It's greatly appreciated.

REMEMBER: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Well, chapter five is done. Until I return with number six, I bid you all well and I'll see you later. Take it easy.

SirGecko


	6. Collusion's Corruption

Well, hello everyone. This time, I bring you a 15 1/2 page chapter, up just a page from the previous. You're still getting your money's worth. Anyway, let's get down to that author's note business that I usually do at this time.

Let me begin with a short chapter summary. The following characters are featured in this chapter: Tidus, Yuna, Leblanc, Lulu, Rikku, Braska, Cid and Kinoc. Plus a little bonus at the very last segment of the chapter. Tidus and Yuna solidify their meetingplans, with Yuna gaining insight into Tidus. Leblanc is back, seen giving the nightly broadcast of the World Evening news from which Lulu discovers something deeply disturbing. Also, Braska, Cid and Kinoc strike a shady deal in a twisted inner conflict of morality and politics. New characters O'aka and Dona make minor appearances as well. They may be featured later, and they may not be. We'll see where the story goes.

As you can see, there are MANY things going on right now. Also, from this point forward, I may be referencing back to past events that occurred in the story. So, it's going to require some memory and attention on your part.

ALSO! One of my reviewers asked me the ages that I designated for each of the characters. I should have explained this sooner, but I will do so now. Tidus and Yuna are both 19 years old, two years older than in the game. Auron is 41 years old, six years older than he was in the game. Wakka and Lulu are both 28 years old, five years older than they were in the game. Paine is 26 years old, seven years older than she was in the game. Rikku is 18, three years older than in FFX. Kinoc is 47 years old. Leblanc is 29 years old. There, I think I got everyone important. If I missed anybody, I'm sorry. Let me know, and I'll state in chapter seven.

Alright, two more things, then you can finally move on to chapter six. The first one is the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

One final thing: the warning. **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

Alright, I think that's finally it. I hate typing all this crap, but it's necessary. What's even more necessary, however is chapter six. So go on now, read it!

* * *

**Chapter 6: Collusion's Corruption  


* * *

**

_  
_Zanarkand Governor's Mansion.  
13:41.  
Sunday, November 24._ _

The sun was beginning to set on the city of Zanarkand as the early afternoon slowly dragged on. With the days growing shorter and shorter as they passed, Zanarkand was allowed only a few precious hours of sunlight in the late morning and early afternoon. Snow was still falling heavily outside and the weather had turned foggy, but the brunt of this particular storm was expected to pass over tonight at around 10:00. Off to the southwest, though, the sky was relatively clear. The scene created with the pink rays of a distant sun reflecting off of the snowflakes dancing in the gentle breeze was one of subtle and inexplicable beauty. Even in the sub-zero temperatures, landscape photographers would venture into the cold to snap a few pictures.

However, not all viewed the snow as captivating. Namely, the Zanarkand Road Department (ZRD), which was swamped and overwhelmed because of the storms. Just in the last hour, there were 147 fender-benders within the city limits, adding to the more than twenty-five hundred that had happened over the weekend. In addition, the wind had blown quite fiercely the previous night, causing the feather-light powder snow to drift across the road. Some of those drifts had been more than six feet high, nullifying the plowing the crews had done the previous night. The ZRD had all its snowplows on the road, but even the full force of the ZRD could not keep up with the weather. Four of the six main highways leading into and out of the city were closed, and the freeway was just barely kept open. Indeed, more than a dozen plows had been dispatched to the interstate to keep the roadway clear all the way to the base of Mt. Gagazet.

Yuna did not mind. It was nice to see a little chaos around once in awhile to make up for her painfully routine lifestyle. Earlier that morning, she and Rikku had snuck around to the back of the mansion and had a one-on-one snowball fight "to the death," as Rikku had said jokingly. With a nap and an Advil, Rikku had woken up that morning feeling much, much better than she had when she had the previous night. Indeed, the Al Bhed girl acted as if nothing had happened at all. All the same, Rikku's behavior left Yuna slightly uncomfortable. She wasn't sure if Rikku was just ignoring her meeting or whether she was really okay.

Then again, Yuna wasn't exactly transparent either.

Now, Yuna stood, leaning on her bedroom windowsill, looking south upon the great City that Never Sleeps. She could see the skyscrapers of the city that looked like they had just been lightly frosted. She could see roads snaking their way in every direction, winding between buildings and rivers, looking like a badly-constructed spider's web. Already, the city lights were coming aglow, shining through the foggy haze on a cold winter's night. Off in the distance to the northeast, she could see the multicolored spotlights surrounding the stadium of Zanarkand's blitzball team, the Zanarkand Abes, dancing around the sky. It was her destination in six hours' time.

"Yunieee!" Rikku called, bouncing into Yuna's room, all smiles. "Isn't this snow neat? It just never gets old!"

Yuna sighed half-heartedly. "Yeah, I bet you didn't see much of this stuff on Bikanel, did you?"

Rikku instantly shifted into a mock-pondering position. "Hmmm," she said, before giggling. When she saw that Yuna wasn't laughing with her, she grew serious and walked up behind her cousin before leaning against her back and resting her chin on Yuna's shoulder. "Yunie, what's wrong, huh?"

Yuna sighed. She always sighed before saying something difficult. "I . . . don't know," she said. "Am I doing the right thing, Rikku? Should I even fret about meeting this Tidus person? He made it very clear that he had no idea who I am."

"Yunie, he doesn't need to know who you are," Rikku said, moving so that she was sitting on the windowsill, facing Yuna and blocking half of her view. "That's what everyone else wants you to believe: that people need to know you to like you. But they don't, Yunie, they really don't. The fact that he didn't know who you are makes everything all the better."

"I don't understand," Yuna said.

Rikku rocked back and forth slightly as she spoke. "Yunie, you can be yourself," she said, sounding somewhat exasperated. "No cameras, no interviews. Just Yunie. The guy took an interest in you, and since he didn't know who you were, it obviously wasn't for your fame."

"Maybe it was for these," Yuna retorted, pointing at her chest. "He wasn't the most . . . well, humble teenager I've met either."

"Who cares?" Rikku said, totally ignoring Yuna's apparent diffidence. "Look," she said, sounding as serious as she could. "You're not happy when you're here, Yunie, and I can see that. This guy is your ticket out of here for one night. He's your escape. Take it! Cut yourself loose! Life's one big adventure! Go out there and have fun watching him play. Of course . . ." Rikku trailed off. "You know I'll still have to root for the Psyches, right?"

This got a laugh out of Yuna. "Certainly," she said. "Thanks, Rikku. You're the best." She tousled her cousin's hair.

"Don't mention it," Rikku said, flashing a toothy grin and hopping off the windowsill. "Wanna go have another snowball fight? We can get Cid to join in and then we can whoop him!"

Yuna smiled. "No, that's okay. I'm cold enough as it is. We could watch a movie instead."

"Okay!" Rikku said. It didn't take much to change her mind. "How about–" Rikku was cut off by the phone ringing.

"Who could that be?" Yuna asked, bemused. "If it's somebody wanting an appearance today, tell them I can't make it, okay?"

"Yes ma'am!" Rikku picked up the phone. "Hello?" There was a pause. "This is Rikku. Who are you? And if you're selling something, I'm not interested." Another pause. "Oh, Tidus?"

Yuna started and glanced sharply toward Rikku, who clutched the black cordless phone in her small slender hand next to a desk, the very desk where Yuna had been typing her report the previous night. How strange it was for him to call when she and Rikku were just talking about him. Coincidence was certainly playing for quite a bit of humor in Yuna's life. Nonetheless, it would perhaps make her feel better if she talked to the young blitzball star now. Maybe she could set a few things straight.

"Here she is," Rikku said, handing the phone to Yuna and sitting down on the desk, one leg swinging back and forth like a pendulum. She watched Yuna intently as the girl began talking into the phone.

"Tidus?" Yuna said. "How are you?"

"Pretty good," Tidus said, sounding quite chipper. "Ready to kick some ass, even though it's fucking cold out there."

"Won't it be warm in the water?" Yuna inquired.

"Should be," Tidus said casually. "I wanted to know if we're still good tonight."

"I think so," Yuna said, smiling. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Me too," he said. "But now I gotta win," he added, "knowing that somebody I wanna impress is watching me play. If all goes well, we can go out afterward, yeah? Then come back and relax at my place."  
"Ah," Yuna said, turning slightly red. "Uh, what, um . . . do you mean?"

"Don't worry, no sex," Tidus said, laughing. His laughter caused Yuna to laugh as well, although Yuna's laughter was of relief. "I'm not that much of a man-whore."

Yuna turned red again. There was an awkward silence before Yuna asked again, "What do you mean, then?"

"Well, you'll be the first one to come and watch who actually seems to give a shit," Tidus said, suddenly sounding much meeker and more uncomfortable. "I gotta go. See you tonight." There was a click and the line went dead.

Yuna clicked the 'Talk' button on the phone to turn it off, and stood there, thinking about what Tidus had just said. So, she thought, there was more to Tidus than met the eye. Indeed, she had feared that Tidus wanted nothing more with her than to get her in his bed. And not for the first time, Yuna was glad that her assumption was incorrect. Now, she felt a whole lot better about this whole affair. A small smile materialized on her face as she walked over to the desk where Rikku was sitting. She put the phone away and looked at Rikku, who was staring at her looking utterly confused.

"What?" Yuna asked, staring at Rikku.

"I haven't seen you smile like that in months," Rikku said, still looking perplexed and hopping off the table. "What did he say?"

Yuna just laughed. She laughed for what must have been over a minute. "I've never been so happy to give a shit in my entire life," she said, walking out of the room, still laughing softly.

Rikku just stood there, looking even more confused, before calling, "Yunie! Wait! What are you talking about?" She ran out of the room in pursuit of her cousin.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SINN HQ building.  
17:58.  
Sunday, November 24.__

"Two minutes, Leblanc."

The lead Anchorwoman of SINN sat professionally at the huge glass-top desk from which she broadcasted the World Evening News. Her lustrous blond hair had been done professionally and was let down today, perfectly straight. Yesterday, it had been styled in a slightly frazzled bun, streaked dirty brown and curled. Leblanc, even though she was a very gifted professional, was also slightly snobbish and very vain. She liked to wear her hair differently every time she went on the air, claiming it "kept the viewers interested in news." Despite her vanity, Leblanc was not what one would call a bimbo. On the contrary, she was very intelligent and took her job equally seriously.

"Weather again, Bob?" She said to her producer, who was watching her from behind the multitude of half-million-gil cameras. "Seriously, love. Can't you find something a little less boring? The folks in Luca and Bikanel doubtless don't care about Zanarkand's weather."

Her voice was soft and also sounded slightly snobbish, as if she were the Princess of Spira (even though no such title existed). Quite often, working with Leblanc could get on one's nerves, but anyone who met her could tell instantly that she was a hell of a reporter; she was just the type of person whose idiosyncracies one had to look past. The nitty gritty of issues was something she was very good to include in her stories, and the information she provided was noteworthy for almost anyone. A former tabloid reporter, she left that career for unexplained reasons to seek a job at SINN. Starting off as a field reporter, she rapidly ascended through the ranks to be appointed to head anchor when the previous holder of the position was forced to resign.

"Leblanc, I don't need to remind you that when you broadcast from Zanarkand, Zanarkand news takes priority over other stories. It's PR."

"Pssh," Leblanc said dismissively. "Whatever you say."

"Thirty seconds!" The cameraman called.

"How does it look?" Leblanc asked.

"Everything looks like it's ready to go," the producer said absently.

"No, my hair, love, my hair," Leblanc said impatiently, tilting her head so that the producer could get a good look at her mane.

"Radiant as always, Leblanc," the producer sighed.

"Why thank you," she beamed, turning once again to face the camera.

"We're on in five." The cameraman said, holding up his hand with the fingers outstretched. "Four. Three. Two. One."

Each time he spoke, a finger went down, until he had reached zero, at which time he pointed to Leblanc. Camera lights blinked on. She could faintly hear whirring as the cameras began to turn. Her figure, clad in a red blouse whose first two buttons were undone to reveal a brown spaghetti strap shirt underneath, as well as a white skirt and pale pink lipstick, suddenly appeared on 11 million television screens across Spira. She was looking at her papers that she had resting on her desk, upon which were typed all sorts of story notes, names of interviewees, dates, times and events from all around the globe.

Just another day at the office.

Leblanc went to work, looking up and speaking in her most melodramatic voice. "Record snowfall plasters the Great City that never sleeps. Fender benders, power outages, road closures and flared tempers mar the City of Zanarkand for the third straight day, with no end in sight." She was reading off the digital script that was appearing in front of her. "A killer on the prowl in the streets of Zanarkand once again; why Raymond Fresner may be Zanarkand District Attorney Lulu's downfall. Also, Seymour Guado in an exclusive interview. To us, he's simply the Mayor of Bevelle. To his city, he's a revered icon. We'll find out why. All this and more coming up, right now, on World Evening News."

The classic news program intro jingle sounded, and the graphic appeared for the introduction to the program appeared on the large screen in front of Leblanc, behind the cameras. It was quite catchy; every time Leblanc would hum the jingle to herself before coming back on the air momentarily. After the intro, a live shot of downtown Zanarkand as the background for the SINN building would appear for a few seconds before going back to Leblanc. Tonight looked as ordinary as any other night except for the fact that everything but the buildings, outlined by the glow of the city lights, was white with new-fallen snow. Then, the cameras were back to Leblanc, and she began speaking again, this time in a normal voice.

"Good evening, loves. Leblanc coming to you live from the SINN world headquarters in Downtown Zanarkand, the City that Never Sleeps. Except for tonight, when due to weather, there may not be anything to do but sleep. Which brings me to the top story of this evening: record snowfall continues to bombard the city, with this most recent storm dumping ten inches of fresh snow, bringing the grand total to four feet of snow in three days. To tell us more about what's going on right now in the thick of things, SINN Correspondent Dona reports live from Yevon Avenue." At this point, split-screen images of both Leblanc and Dona appeared on the screen. "Dona, can you give our viewers an idea of what it's like out there?"

Dona, a Kilikan native who moved to Zanarkand as a teenager to escape the heat, had been a SINN Correspondent for only six months, but she proved to be quite adept at that. She and Leblanc were good friends, seeing as they had largely similar personalities. Dona appeared on the screen bundled in a thick blanket on top of a coat. Her face, usually dark brown, was mixed with red tonight. Her hands were sheathed by thin black leather gloves, one of which clutched a mike. Just inside the hood of her gray coat, one could see her ears hidden by fluffy red earmuffs and her chocolate brown hair billowed behind her in a recent wind that had picked up.

Currently, Dona was standing next to the Courthouse on Yevon Avenue. The building had half an inch of snow enveloping the pillars, with shoveled snow crudely lining the outer edges of the huge steps that led inside the building. People, equally laden with winter gear as Dona, were walking down the recently-shoveled sidewalks. Behind her, the street was concealed by a six-foot tall wall of freshly-plowed snow, although cars could be heard rumbling slowly down the avenue. A yellow caution light blinked at one-second intervals. Off in the distance was the blitzball stadium, right on the West end of Yevon Avenue. The sky was orange, aglow from the surrounding city lights as was typical at night.

Dona began to speak. "Well, as you can see, it's not snowing right now, but that will change in another few hours, Leblanc, when another big storm is expected to settle itself over Zanarkand. It's really quite cold out, with the temperature currently about six degrees. However, the overnight low is expected to reach minus three degrees. Despite these frigid numbers, many Zanarkand natives and even a few tourists brave the elements to venture out and go about their business. Even a few tourists from the South manage to make it out here as well."

"How's traffic looking?" Leblanc asked from the studio.

"Well, as you know, there's a big playoff blitzball game tonight against the Al Bhed Psyches. If the Abes win it tonight, they'll face the Goers in the one-game title a week from this coming Thursday. With this in mind, road crews are keeping things very clear in anticipation for tonight's game. Elsewhere, things are also looking pretty clear at the moment. But with tonight's big storm heading straight for us, the ZRD is likely to be at it again all night tonight and into the morning, causing further delays and headaches for the citizens of Zanarkand. Back to you."

"It's really something out there, isn't it?" Leblanc said, addressing the viewers. "Thanks, Dona." She turned around. "Now for the weather for tonight from our meteorologist, Fred Wilkinson. Fred?"

The screen flashed down to where Fred was standing, behind a green-screen projection of a local weather map. What the map showed did not look pretty. The map had been magnified to show the Zanarkand District of Spira, which included all land and sea north of the Calm Lands. With satellite imagery from the Doppler Radar, a huge cell could be seen just south of Mt. Gagazet. The cell was displayed in a multitude of colors, the central regions of which were dark red. The map showed its path over the next 24 hours, taking the heart of the cell right over the city of Zanarkand. Fred began to speak with the details, verbally relaying what the map was showing.

"There's no relief in sight, I'm afraid, as we see another vicious storm is coming in from the southwest. With it will come high winds with gusts of up to forty miles per hour and it is expected to let loose up to 18 inches of snow tonight and into tomorrow night, making it the largest storm to hit us so far. We'll have further updates as this storm begins to settle itself right over Zanarkand, and traffic reports will be provided every half hour. I'll be back in a half-hour with an update."

"Be safe out there," Leblanc said into the camera, addressing the viewers. "In other news, a man turns up dead on the front porch of his home at forty-five-eighty-one Sycamore Road. Buried in snow, he was discovered by chance when a neighbor went to investigate the fact that there was no activity in the house. What the neighbor found was a frozen man with three bullet wounds: two in the chest, one in the head. Investigators determine the time of death to be approximately seventy-two hours ago. Here with me now is the Chief of Police of Zanarkand, O'aka, to tell us a little more. Sir, what is it about his death that makes it of such noteworthiness?"

The cameras rotated and zoomed out to focus on both Leblanc and O'aka, who was sitting to her right. O'aka was a very jovial man who many said did not belong in his job because of his youthful personality (for those who knew him well however, it was because his competency as the Police Chief was constantly in question). His face was very boyish and free of facial hair. Short and portly with an Islander accent, he had been the Chief of Police of Zanarkand for only a few years. Currently, he was sitting at the opposite end of Leblanc's huge desk, sporting a polite smile. Usually he could be seen in very casual wear, usually sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but for his appearance tonight, he was clad in his best dress uniform, a navy blue outfit with a large badge on his left breast pocket. He wore the traditional hat of his city's office: a wide-brimmed brown Fedora hat. He sat with his hands folded on the desk and his left leg crossed over his right.

"Well, we 'aven't seen this MO for over a year, now," he said, accent as pronounced as ever. "Not since that bloke Ray Fresner was booked. So, it appears to be tha' we caught the wrong guy."

"Is it possible that Raymond is innocent?" Leblanc asked.

"Before, it was indisputable fact tha' he was guilty," O'aka said seriously. "I gave testimony myself to the fact tha' he was guilty. But now, it appears as if there's one o' two options. One: we caught the wrong bloke, or two: there's two people out there with identical MO's. I highly doubt the la'aer, personally."

"The district attorney of Zanarkand, Lulu, has gained much fame recently because of her conviction record and especially because of her recent victory over Raymond Fresner," Leblanc said. "If in fact she put the wrong man away, what will this do to her reputation?" In the background, footage of Raymond's trial was being shown.

"You're right, Lulu had indeed been widely publicized over this case," O'aka said. "If she was wrong, and the media willbe sure to quickly point that out, then her reputation could very well be severely damaged."  
"But you know we all make mistakes," Leblanc said, stepping into her role as Devil's Advocate. "Isn't everybody allowed a mistake?"

"Not if Lulu doesn' allow 'erself to make mistakes, which is cer'ainly the case," O'aka said. "Her perfectionist attitude migh' be 'er own undoing." He paused, then added, "I do know this, though: Lulu is a highly gifted individual, and one who has my utmost respect, regardless of the outcome. However, the public ultimately decides, Leblanc. They always do."

"We thank you for your time, O'aka, and wish you the best of luck in sorting this out," Leblanc said earnestly.

"Thank ye," O'aka said.

"Coming up!" Leblanc stated, wasting no time in facing her viewers again. "An exclusive interview with the Mayor of Bevelle: why he's so popular in his city and nowhere else. We'll be right back after these messages, loves; stay with us."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 7867 Huckleberry Park Drive.  
18:07.  
Sunday, November 24._

Lulu's residence was rather small, smaller than one might think. Even though she was the DA of the largest city in the world, she liked living somewhat conservatively. Even so, what she did have was nice. It was a two-story house with a one-car garage on top of a small knoll in Western Zanarkand. When there wasn't snow covering the house, it was Forest Green. Due to Zanarkand's cost of living scale, the house cost more than 200,000 gil even though is was quite average. However, this was not too much of a hassle for the young woman.

The inside of her house was even nicer than the outside. One would walk straight into the living room and see a semicircle couch facing a 54" plasma screen tv mounted on the wall in which the door was set. To the left of the couch, a small stand held a lamp, two remotes and a stack of old magazines. A fireplace was off on the right wall, currently blazing with the wonderful consuming feeling of warm wood heat. An ornate rug lay in front of the fireplace, which was where Lulu's Himalayan cat usually napped, the lazy creature that it was. The carpet was coffee brown and quite soft, so soft, in fact, that it was more comfortable to walk around without shoes or socks on. The walls were painted a very light ocean blue, so light that it looked almost white. Off against the left wall sat a desk with Lulu's flat-screen computer monitor, a stack of manilla folders, and a cordless phone, complete with a headset. Currently, Lulu sat behind the desk in a large black leather desk chair, feet curled under her as she dipped a spoon into a container of mixed berry yogurt.

Lulu had just finished a thirty-minute workout on the treadmill in the small room she used to exercise. Her face and chest glistening slightly with sweat, she mopped herself with the towel she had wrapped around her neck. Clad in only black spandex and a sports bra, she was quite glad to feel her skin cool down. She had stopped to check her e-mail and watch a glimpse of the evening news before hopping into the shower. The night was all planned out, as usual. She would shower, put in a chicken TV dinner, curl up on the couch under a soft down blanket and fall asleep to a movie with her cat, Lorenzo, curled up and purring at her side. It was one of those few days where she didn't have to do anything remotely related to being a lawyer.

Or so she thought.

Lulu began to channel-surf, stopping on the World Evening News. "The district attorney of Zanarkand, Lulu, has gained much fame recently because of her conviction record and especially because of her recent victory over Raymond Fresner," Leblanc was saying to Police Chief O'aka. "If in fact she put the wrong man away, what will this do to her reputation?"

"You're right, Lulu had indeed been widely publicized over this case," O'aka said. "If she was wrong, and the media will be sure to quickly point that out, then her reputation could very well be severely damaged."  
"But you know we all make mistakes," Leblanc countered. "Isn't everybody allowed a mistake?"

"Not if Lulu doesn' allow 'erself to make mistakes, which is cer'ainly the case," O'aka said. "Her perfectionist attitude and work ethic migh' be her own undoing." He paused, then added, "I do know this, though: Lulu is a highly gifted individual, and one who has my utmost respect, regardless of the outcome. However, the public ultimately decides, Leblanc. They always do."

"We thank you for your time, O'aka, and wish you the best of luck in sorting this out," Leblanc said earnestly.

"Thank ye," O'aka said.

"Coming up!" Leblanc stated, turning back toward the camera. "An exclusive interview with the Mayor of Bevelle: why he's so popular in his city and nowhere else. We'll be right back after these messages, loves; stay with us."

Lulu turned off the TV, face frozen in unsuppressed horror and rage. Her plans for a quiet evening vanishing in an instant, she quickly she fixed the headset to her phone over her ear and dialed the number to her friend and associate's house, Gordon Mason. Her mind reeled, recalling the interview between the lead SINN anchorwoman and the Zanarkand chief of Police. 'The information was correct,' she thought. 'The evidence solid. How can he be the wrong guy? I would have bet my entire career on his guilt! And now it looks like I just did.'

The phone rang only once before Gordon picked up. "Hello, who is this?" he asked.

"Did you tune in to SINN?" She asked without missing a beat.

"I did," Gordon said, recognizing her voice. "I'm as shocked as you are."

"Shocked? I'm not shocked at all. I'm pissed off," Lulu spat. "When the hell was somebody going to tell me about this new murder before I found it out with the rest of the world?"

"Lulu, listen," Gordon said. "I just found out about it too, and the same way you did at that. The only person who would know beforehand would be the police and the investigators."

"Any idea why they didn't tell me, especially considering the fact that it was my fucking case?" Lulu said acidly. "I've told you until I'm blue in the face that O'aka is a dipshit."

"I think you've answered your own question," Gordon said, chuckling despite the circumstances.

"Well, it is, of course, his right to talk out of his ass instead of his mouth. But I'll be damned if he's going to drag me down with his idiocy," Lulu snapped. "In fact, now that I think about it, remember his last comment about his respecting me?"

Gordon thought for a moment before saying, "I do."

"I'm surprised I didn't hear a beeping noise with all that backpedaling," she continued. "I saw it. The 'oh shit, I fucked up now' look crossed his face, right after he got done saying my reputation might find its way to the toilet. Now that I think about it," she began to laugh, "it's actually quite funny."

"So, what do you plan to do?" Gordon asked. "You know I'll support your decision."

"I'm going to have a nice long word with our dear old police chief," Lulu said softly, "and I'm going to make it very clear to him that humiliating the DA of Zanarkand on international television was the biggest mistake he ever made in his life."

"You feel humiliated?" Gordon questioned.

"Shouldn't I?" Lulu asked, laughing incredulously. "He essentially called me a perfectionist fool on live TV."

Lulu was the type to rant for a few minutes before calming down and letting sense creep back into her thought process. That was just beginning to happen. As a minute of silence fell between Lulu, still sitting cross-legged in her chair, and Gordon, she began to clear all thoughts of irrational acts of revenge. There was certainly a better way to prove herself without bringing anybody else down. She knew that she was certainly intelligent enough to do so. And, as if in response to a silent desire for a plan, one materialized.

"Gordon, I have a theory," she said.

"Shoot," Gordon replied, sounding excited. Lulu's ideas were always unique and 'outside the box', so to speak.

"What if somebody famous gets arrested for something major? Someone everybody loves to hate? I'd get assigned to the case and convict him, redeeming myself." She paused, out of breath. What she had just said she said with one breath. "What do you think?"

Gordon sighed. "It doesn't sound probable, Lulu. I hate to say it, but it doesn't." Lulu started to reply, but Gordon cut her off. "However, on the rare chance that it does occur, it's a brilliant plan. I'm sure that you can pull something off." Silence. "Well, I gotta go. There's a show on TV I can't miss. See ya, Lulu, and hang in there." The line went dead.

Lulu disgustedly threw the headset on the desk and rested her head in her hands. Who was she kidding? There was no way that so much circumstance would come out in her favor. Nobody was going to be arrested that she could prosecute in order to save her skin. And now, wave after wave of media analysis and public criticism would flood the airwaves, all more than likely making Lulu out to be a failure. Even though her record was spotless, all it took was one time to ruin a person. And the media was the biggest weapon of all. Now, Lulu just had to figure out how to stop them from embarking on a crusade to destroy her image, career, and life.

"Fuck." She got up and went off to the bathroom to take a shower.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 1st and Main.  
18:37.  
Sunday, November 24._

To say that the man called Cid was baffled was an understatement. He was downright astonished. In fact, he had never been more surprised than when Braska called him up to be his running mate for mayor. So here he sat, behind the wheel of his shiny red Honda Accord, going much faster through Zanarkand than was safe with the current road conditions. Still, nobody could deny the urgency that the message demanded. At first, he had checked its authenticity, but it had indeed come from his friend: Mayor Braska. In all his time working in Zanarkand politics, he had never known the Mayor to surprise him with anything. He was always given a fair amount of notice for anything drastic. Not this time, however. As Cid skidded to a halt for a red light, he dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and checked the text message again.

We're going to strike the deal of a lifetime. Meet me in the Conference Hall at 18:45. DO NOT BE LATE.

This was the first message that was this urgent he had ever received from Braska. Even more peculiar was that, in the meeting they both had with the city officials yesterday, Braska had brought up relatively no new business. It certainly sounded like that had changed in a hurry.

The light turned green. Cid gunned the engine, fishtailing slightly through the intersection as he turned onto Court Street, the street where the Governor's Mansion was located. It was interesting: though the highest office held in the city of Zanarkand was that of Mayor, the building in which he or she resided in was still called the Governor's Mansion. It had been a centuries-old mistake of the human tongue, but it never seemed to be corrected. Thus, it was still called the Governor's Mansion to this day.

Cid raced into the parking lot of the Mansion, parked, exited the car and ran at a full sprint toward the large building. He had three minutes to make it to his meeting on time. However, Cid found that he could not sprint for long, so he instead slowed down to a jog, panting as he came face-to-face with the huge double doors to the mansion. He swiped his ID card on the side panel and waited as the doors opened slowly to reveal the foyer of the mansion. Cid had expected to find the room empty, and just proceed on up to the conference room. Instead, the Mayor of Zanarkand was waiting to greet him at the foot of the steps leading to the second floor. He looked content, which further surprised Cid.

"Cid. So good of you to make it on time," Braska said softly, reaching out his arm to shake hands with his second in command. "I trust you got my message?"

"If I didn't, I'd be having dinner at that new restaurant right now," Cid said. "What's your deal, Braska? You've never surprised me like this before."

"My apologies, my friend," Braska said sincerely. "Won't you walk with me? I'll explain on the way."

Cid obliged, and the two began walking up the polished oak steps. "So, why'd you wait 'till now to tell me about this?"

"You'll see," Braska said. "As the message said, we've got the chance of a lifetime. The purpose of the meeting is for you to meet him."

"Who?" Cid asked incredulously. "You sure know how to make a boring day interesting, don't you Braska?"

The mayor chuckled animatedly. "I suppose that's one way of interpreting it," he said. "All right. We're here."

They had reached the conference room, and Braska opened the door leading into the room. Besides the foyer, it was the largest room in the mansion, able to seat up to fifty people around one huge, space-consuming table. Many small tables lined the perimeter of the room. The central table was made of pine and had been coated in red polish and finish. Cid had suggested an oak table, but Braska had jokingly told him that it would take a crane to move the thing. During meetings, Braska would sit at the end farthest from the door leading into the room. Currently, all the seats surrounding the table were empty, save for one, right next to Braska's chair. The man sitting in the chair turned around as the two politicians walked in.

"Holy shit!" Cid yelled.

The man got up from his chair and walked over to where a smiling Braska and a floored Cid stood rigidly in their spots. He extended his hand to Cid, ignoring his previous outburst. "Wen Kinoc," he said, smiling courteously. "Pleased to meet you."

"HAH!" Cid said, returning the gesture warily. "We'll see about that." Cid's red flags had instantaneously gone up and were waving frantically in the back of his mind.

Kinoc ignored the less-than-warm return. "Braska, a pleasure, as always," he said, shaking the mayor's hand as well. "Well, shall we get started?"

"Indeed," Braska said, leading them over.

Cid walked behind the other two men in a daze. Nothing seemed right about this, nothing whatsoever. Wen Kinoc was a man who was deeply devoted and enveloped in his job as SIA director. But even more so than that, Kinoc was a very secretive man who always had an ulterior motive for every decision he made. There was a reason Kinoc was part of the SIA: it was because he was as formidable as he was brilliant. The job suited the man well. For Braska to say that they were about to strike the deal of a lifetime, and that Kinoc was involved, was a huge red flag to the man.

Also, why were the two meeting together on such short notice, especially for Cid's sake?

By this time, the three men had been seated. Braska was to Cid's right, in his usual position at the head of the table. Kinoc sat directly across from Cid. Cid stared uneasily at the man, avoiding looking straight into his eyes. However, the Al Bhed could feel Kinoc's beady eyes boring straight into him, scanning him. The room was totally silent except for the three men breathing. No, this meeting didn't feel right at all. Something was up– there had to be. And Cid was bound and determined to figure out what it was.

"Whiskey, anyone?" Braska asked, motioning to the crystal bottle full of the amber-colored alcohol. Both men nodded, and Braska poured each of them a shot. "All right. Cid, the deal I spoke of is already in the works. You're here so you can be filled in, and so I have your support. I called Kinoc here so you two would have a chance to get acquainted."

"Acquainted? What for?" Cid asked. "Could somebody start making sense here before I go out of my goddamn mind?"

"All right. I'll just cut right to the chase, if that's what you want," Braska said patiently. "Kinoc and I have been working closely together to solidify Zanarkand's future. By that, I mean we've been working behind the scenes, taking what some may call extreme measures to ensure the safety and economic stability of this city."

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold it right there!" Cid said, putting up his hand. By now, he was thinking that tonight was a very good night to get drunk, so he put back his shot of whiskey and poured himself another before continuing. "What do you mean by 'extreme'?"

"I suppose there's . . . really no delicate way to say this," Braska said. "We're going to take Seymour out."

"What?"

"Bevelle is becoming ever more a major concern," Braska said. "Seymour is on the brink of war with the Al Bhed. In turn, he's making many enemies with most other major cities, Zanarkand included. I'm sure you know that Zanarkand and Bevelle are not on good terms right now."

"HAH! Bevelle's not on good terms with anybody but Guadosalam, and they're too small to be any threat," Cid argued. "Luca, Zanarkand, Bikanel . . . those three cities are the remainder of the four superpowers of Spira. The fact that they have the best military doesn't mean a damn thing. They can't fight all three of us at once!"

"I plan to avoid war altogether," Braska said. "Luca isn't taking the initiative, and Bikanel is in no position to take the initiative, either. But Zanarkand is, Cid. We have the SIA right here in our city. Their technology even outstrips Bikanel's. They act as our watchdog, our electric fence, our security camera, so to speak. They can do anything. Anywhere. At anytime. Even stop a war. And that's just what Kinoc and I plan to do."

"How?" Cid asked warily.

"The DASC, as a whole, is nothing more than a collective of pompous and arrogant jerkoffs with nothing but their own interests in mind," Kinoc stated bluntly, downing his shot of whiskey. "You know that in order to officially oust a mayor, you need a unanimous vote from all other members. That has never happened in Spira's history, and it won't happen this time, thanks to Guadosalam's dependence on them for trade. All the same, Seymour is a threat that needs to be removed. And since the DASC can never come to a consensus, we- we being the SIA- will."

"How?" Cid repeated, growing largely impatient.

"The SIA can arrest anybody that we see fit, provided we have sufficient evidence to do so," Kinoc replied. "Right now, Seymour has give us nothing more to go on than suspicion. But that can change real quick."

"In short, we might have to play dirty pool. Planting 'evidence', bribery, that sort of thing," Braska added. "That's where we come in. If we come up with the evidence, they issue the arrest."

"Corruption?" Cid breathed incredulously.

"You say that as if you're not familiar with the concept. I'd be stunned if that was true," Kinoc answered, voice rising with each word. He got up from his chair and began to pace around the room. Cid watched him pace, growing more and more irritated with each step the short man took. Just when he was about to start shouting, Kinoc beat him to the punch. "We've done business like this for generations. If you lifted your throbbing head from that puddle of drool every morning long enough to pay attention for two seconds, you'd ask yourself how everything Braska wants done gets done. It certainly isn't the DASC."

"All right!" Cid shouted, rising halfway out of his chair. When he spoke again, his voice was low and dangerous. "Before this goes anywhere else, let's remove the assumption that I'm fucking stupid. I'm not. I know the politics aren't clean." He paused to exhale slowly, calming himself. "And if you ever bring up my personal life again, you Ponzi piece of shit, I'll fix it so that somebody finds you in five places at once."

"Gentlemen, let's cool it for a minute," Braska called, holding out his hands so that Cid would sink back in his seat. Kinoc had been watching the Al Bhed man with what appeared to be amusement when Braska turned to him. "Kinoc, perhaps we should have explained something else first."

Cid groaned and poured himself a third shot before taking care of that in one gulp as well. "Looks like I picked a helluva day to quit drinking," he grumbled under his breath.

Kinoc smirked. "This is all strictly a backup plan," he said. "Of course, Braska is going to call the DASC together. We already know that they will never vote Seymour out, but for moral reasons, we will have made the effort."

"So, you're essentially calling your backup plan your main plan," Cid said slowly. He shook his head.

"Now Cid. I need your word on this," Braska said, turning very serious. Cid opened his mouth to interject, but Braska cut him off. "I take this action with utmost reluctance, as I'm sure you know. I've always been a patient man who believes that diplomacy can solve almost anything. But with regards to Bevelle, I'm running out of both options and time. The last - the absolute last - thing I want is war. If that means being slightly corrupt will avoid war, then I'm willing to make that sacrifice." Cid said nothing. "I need your support though, Cid."

"Count me out," Cid said instantly. "War had been avoided in much more honest ways. I'm sure men of your intelligence can find them."

"If we can't, though, Cid . . . if we can't," Braska said. "Then, will you support me?"

Cid sighed deeply. He was thinking about it, Braska could tell. He had cast the rod into the pond. He was biting. Now, Braska just needed to secure him and reel him in. But what to use for bait? He decided to play the emotional card.

"These are your people, remember that, Cid," Braska said. Kinoc had said nothing for the past few minutes, but instead settled for leaning against the wall with his arms folded, watching the two men bicker. "This is a good kind of corruption. It can only help people. You know that. I'm not going to kill anybody, steal from anybody's pension, or lay off half the city. I'll simply be stretching my authority for a temporary time period." He put much inflection on the word 'temporary'. "We can avoid war, Cid," he said again. "Kinoc, you and I, we can work together to bring this guy to justice and charge him with attempted genocide."

"Two wrongs don't make a right, Braska," Cid said. "I thought you of all people understood that."

"Of course I do," Braska said patiently. "But I also know that, if all works out in the end, we will have avoided war. We serve the people, Cid. And if we have to be dishonest to save the lives of tens of thousands of people, whether they are in Bikanel, Zanarkand or Bevelle itself, blast it, I'll be dishonest." Braska stood up and gripped Cid's shoulder firmly. "Do you stand with me?"

Cid stood up as well, causing Braska to let go of his shoulder. He could feel the eyes of both Kinoc and the mayor watching him intently, searching his body language for any sign to the affirmative. Cid took back his fifth shot of whiskey, and was just now beginning to feel the alcohol work its fuzzy magic. His mind, however, had not yet been affected. He could still think clearly about the discussion that had just taken place. Cid did not like it at all; it made him feel vastly uncomfortable. The main reason he had stayed on with Braska as Deputy Mayor was because of Braska's ethics. And now, Cid's whole basis for staying had been whipped out from underneath him. Was there any other reason why he should stay now?

"Braska . . ." Cid said, staring straight into the Mayor's eyes with his own. "Because I am your friend, I will help you do whatever you need. I will keep my mouth shut and . . . and aid you in whatever way I can in order to get Seymour."

Braska smiled warmly and embraced Cid. "You won't regret this, Cid, you won't," he said happily.

"Whoa, I'm not finished," Cid said sharply. "If we get into trouble doing this, I'm coming clean to the public. And so are you. If there is any sign, any at all, that we're going to be caught, I'm confessing with everything. Agreed?"

"Agreed, Cid, agreed," Braska nodded. They shook on it.

"Actually, that won't be necessary," Kinoc interjected, sounding slightly irritated, but minding his manners this time. "Cid, you seem to forget that my agency exists, sir. There will be no need to worry about being discovered. We'll be on the prowl for potential threats and take whatever measures necessary to ensure that whatever Braska decides to do remains undiscovered."

"And . . . what measures are we talking about here?" Cid asked, hesitantly.

Kinoc smirked. "Now sir, you should know this by now! That's a secret."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.6 ~~~~~**

Ten minutes later, Cid had slowly made his way up to his room in the Mansion, shaking his head vigorously, like a schizophrenic. What had he done? Essentially, he had just signed a contract saying he would be shady and mendacious. It wasn't like him at all to be either. However, he had agreed, because he was Braska's friend. Is this what Rikku had mentioned to him about loyalty and how it could be dangerous? She was very independent, loyal to a certain extent but certainly her own girl. She had learned from Cid, after all, that it was important to have friends, but to stick up for what you thought was right. He had made sure that Rikku understood this very well. And now.

What a hypocrite.

Cid shook his head again, and dialed his daughter's cell phone number. He knew it was unlikely that she would answer, as she was at the blitzball game. All the same, he silently hoped he would hear her voice. The phone began to ring. Once. Twice. Now that both the alcohol and his decision were beginning to further settle into his mind, he was having immense second thoughts. He needed to talk about it with somebody else. The only other person could act as his confidant besides Braska was Rikku. Three rings. Four. He knew Rikku shouldn't have to bear this burden, especially after she had been through numerous kinds of Hell in the recent past. Coincidentally, with the very man whom he had now agreed to stop at all costs. Five rings. The automated message. He sighed. At least she would get a message from him. She checked her cell phone every hour, so it wouldn't be long.

"Rikku, it's me, pops. I just . . . er . . ."

He paused for a moment. This was not something to be discussed in a message over the phone. No, he'd had quite enough of phone messages for one day. He would wait until she got home. Or until he felt the time was right, one of the two. But now, he had already started a message. He needed to finish it with something, anything. Something genuine.

". . . yeah, I just wanted to call and tell you to . . . just be careful out there. Sometimes when I get caught up in the job, I forget to tell you to watch your back every now and then, heh heh. Rikku . . ." he trailed off. "Be careful for Cid, will ya? All right, I'll see you when you get home." He paused again.

"Bye."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.6 ~~~~~**

_  
_?.  
19:03.  
Sunday, November, 24. _

The man known as Alpha One had no name. At least, to the rest of the world. Only he knew it, and he never used it anymore. This was just one of the key precautions he took to ensure his personal safety against all those who wished to expose him. His job was his life, a trained professional. He asked no questions, and in turn, nobody asked him questions. It was a necessary evil. However, the man didn't think of it as a hindrance at all. He had been trained not to question motives or premise. In this job, you couldn't. Alpha One had friends in very high places and it was also part of his job to trust their judgment.

According to public records, Alpha One had been dead for more than six years. Since he officially did not exist, the acts that this man could perform were almost limitless. Still, very few people claimed to be dead without a malicious intent masking their secrecy. Alpha One was no different. He was part of an entire group of people who also didn't exist, whose jobs and deeds were untraceable as a result. Laundered money was his spokesperson, for he was very well-paid and could spend the money where and on whatever he pleased.

He spoke into a tiny bug on his index finger. "This is Alpha One calling Beta Command. We have received the shipment and are in position. Over."

"Good." The voice was not ominous as one might think, but rather, it seemed contemplative, thoughtful. "Now, we wait until Gamma One has finished his mission in Epsilon. That clearance should come at about 22:30 tonight."

"The security systems defending the zone have been successfully compromised by my partner. It should take authorities at least six hours to discover and correct the problem. Until then, we're free to roam."

Alpha One was very careful not to give away the names of places or the actions he performed on any of his missions. By saying that security was compromised, it could mean anything from an actual security system being disabled to the killing of people. In this particular instance, it was the latter. Besides, since nobody but he and his correspondent knew where he was, there was no deemed risk to what was currently being said. Besides, Alpha One was a professional. He knew what could and could not be said.

"Excellent. Once I have received the go-ahead from Gamma One, you are cleared to proceed with the operation."

"Affirmative, Beta Command. Closing in on the target now. Awaiting orders at 22:30."

* * *

Okay, another cliffhanger. So sue me.

Alright, everybody. Here's the deal: chapter seven is it. It's the first of many good parts to come. By the end of chapter seven, Zanarkand will never be the same. Who's responsible? Who's to share the blame? What will we know? It all starts in chapter seven.

REMEMBER: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Also, remember to leave your comments or critique in a review. I love to see them. Please review.

Anyway, I'm out. We shall talk again once chapter seven is up. Until that time, take it easy.

SirGecko


	7. Killzone: Mission Complete

Hey. I present you with chapter seven, which is a very decent length of 17 1/4 pages. I had originally started writing the chapter much earlier, but then decided to scrap seven of the eight pages (because I thought they were totally awful and anticlimactic). I think the rewrite is much better.

Okay, time for me to babble incessantly for a bit.

First of all, I told you that chapter seven was to be the pivotal chapter thus far in the story. This remains true. You may have noticed by the chapter's title . . . anyway, just letting you all know that I haven't delayed the chapter I've promised any more. This is it. It's here. And you finally get to read it.

Now for the chapter summary. It's very short:

The shit hits the fan. Hard.

The following characters are prominently featured: Auron, Paine, Kinoc and two secret agents. Seymour, Tidus, Yuna and Rikku make small appearances. And that's all I'm saying.

Now, I think this actually covers it, but I have my two usual liability shields to wield. Here they are.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

**_Note: this chapter contains disturbing scenes of violence._**

That's it. Hopefully chapter seven will be as good as I've said. Now, read it and tell me. Go on.

* * *

**Chapter 7: Killzone: Mission Complete

* * *

**

_  
_9.4 million homes across Spira.  
22:38.  
Sunday, November 24._ _

"Welcome back, loves, this is Leblanc reporting to you live from the SINN HQ building in beautiful snow-covered Zanarkand. Coming up in the last quarter-hour of our broadcast! The science and psychology of gambling: why and how it affects even those who don't gamble. But first, we have a lighter bit of breaking news for you tonight . . . at least for those of you who are fans of the Zanarkand Abes. The blitzball team has done it again, effectively trouncing the Al Bhed Psyches in a smashing six-to-one victory! Though we'll certainly have much more coverage for you during the Sports Hour, up next, what I've been told is that all six goals were scored in the last half of the game, and three of them were scored by Tidus, the young and rapidly-rising star for the hometown team. We'll have an interview to broadcast later on in the show, as well as–"

Leblanc suddenly paused and clutched her ear as if it had just been lit aflame. Her facial expression, once happy and carefree, now bore stark horror. Her hands flew to her mouth. Quickly, she covered the mike on her shirt and whispered something to a producer who had just come into view. They conversed for several seconds before Leblanc nodded, still looking utterly horrified. She glanced out the window to her right, but the camera neglected to follow. Shaking her head slightly, as if trying to rid her thoughts of awful memories, she cleared her throat several times and turned back to the cameras.

"Uh . . . loves, I've just gotten word of two very large blasts within Abes Stadium. Reports stipulate that they're on the west side of the stadium, which is right where the Visitors Bench as well as the Top Box are positioned. We're trying to get some cameras out there for you to see it yourself. Wait . . ." She covered her mike again and clutched her earpiece. "It's been confirmed. According to eyewitness accounts, the blasts were the result of large projectiles being fired from somewhere in Zanarkand Harbor." She paused, as if just realizing something. "We're going to take a short break, loves, but it appears as if . . ." she trailed off.

"It appears as if Zanarkand is under attack."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.7 ~~~~~**

_Forty Minutes Ago_

_  
_Bevelle Mayor Tower.  
21:58.  
Sunday, November 24._

If it were possible for anybody to see in the corner of the Tower Lobby, one would no doubt find it peculiar to see a middle-aged man hiding behind a potted plant. It didn't matter to Auron, however, only the mission did. He had chosen this corner for three reasons. One, he had a good view of the security guard in the middle of the room. Two, he was well-hidden by the plant. And three, this was the darkest part of the entire lobby. Auron was currently using this down time to figure out how he could proceed without the guard noticing him. He had been waiting in this corner for the last twenty minutes, and still the guard hadn't budged. However, Auron had also noticed the guard chugging down energy drinks like there was no tomorrow, so he figured that the guard would have to relieve himself eventually.

He knew that once he could get to the guard's desk and retrieve a key card to the elevator and Seymour's office, a good portion of the mission will have already been completed. Kinoc would provide him with intelligence via the bug in his ear, but he had said that the hardest part would be sneaking onto the elevator without being detected. The guard's desk was right in the middle of the room, and the ceiling lights pretty much illuminated every part of the lobby but the corner in which Auron was currently hiding. He could always shoot out some lights with the M-9 tranquilizer gun he had been provided with, but even though the gun was silenced and shot only darts, it would certainly be enough to alert the guard. Auron could, of course, just shoot the guard right now, but the neurotoxin contained within each dart was enough to last for roughly thirty minutes, more than enough time for somebody to discover a dart in the security guard's forehead.

Finally, Auron's wait was up and his hunch was confirmed. The guard grunted slightly as he lifted himself out of his rolling desk chair and made for the men's room on the back wall, to the right of the elevator. Auron waited for the door to close behind the guard, and made his move. Quickly, he began shooting out necessary ceiling lights. Four, to be exact- one above the guard's desk, the one between the desk and elevator, and the two in front of the elevator. He kept to the wall, moving as quickly and as quietly as he could, before taking care of the two elevator lights with two quick and precise shots. Poff. Poff. The tinkle of glass and the dimming of his surroundings made Auron feel a little more at ease. He had always felt more comfortable at night, in the dark, and even more so now that he was using it to keep himself concealed. Anything could happen if he were discovered. He didn't want to take that chance.

Moving a little faster now, he crossed into the open under the light put off by the lights in the middle of the room, shooting out the light he crossed directly under on his way. The whole maneuver took all of four seconds, and soon he was behind the security guard's desk. The desk was in the shape of a U, blocking all escape routes but the one to the elevator or the bathroom. Auron did a visual sweep of the desk, looking for anything useful. He saw two four-packs of Red Bull sitting under the desk, as well as a garbage can. Papers and surveillance records littered the top of the desk, as well as a napkin with crumbs all over it. A coffee stain was next to the faded mousepad to the left of the computer. None of this interested the man, however. Auron turned off and unplugged the desk lamp, which effectively dimmed his surroundings. Just in case there was time, he also commanded the computer to search for any floor plans to the tower. However, the guard was bound to return any second, so he had to work fast, and whether he could look at the floor plans in time was questionable.

Auron's prime reason for coming over to the desk was resting inside a small lockbox on top of the computer. Quickly, Auron pulled out a lock pick from his pocket and stuck it inside the small keyhole to the box. This was the tricky part– he had to listen intently for the clicking of the pins inside the lock, while at the same time keeping an eye out for the guard. On the plus side, the bathroom was on the side of his good eye, so he wouldn't have to crane his neck as far to spot the guard. There were six pins, and he worked the pick so that he could jiggle each one, one at a time. He felt the first one click into place. A few seconds later, he had the second one. Moving even faster now, Auron wiggled the third and fourth pins into place. He got to the fifth pin, and heard it click as well. The six was already correctly positioned; the box was effectively unlocked.

Then, Auron heard the telltale whoosh of a toilet being flushed behind him. Time was running short. He reached inside and quickly pulled out a disposable key card to the elevator. The letters and numbers on the card were indeed entirely random, further proof of a very effective security system. Auron looked over at the computer, still searching for floor plans. Canceling this action, he quickly pulled up a program that looked like it would authorize his card. He was correct. The program called for him to insert the numbers on the card and the floor for which it was intended. He typed the letters and numbers into the corresponding blocks, A 1 C 6 F, and indicated the 41st floor as his intended destination. The program confirmed his combination and floor number before closing down.

"What the hell?"

Auron glanced quickly over his shoulder, and to his unsettlement, saw the security guard leaving the bathroom. He was, fortunately, not looking at his desk at the moment, but instead was distracted by the lights next to the elevator that Auron had shot out. Now, all Auron had to do was to get to the elevator. However, with a security guard blocking his way, there was no way he could cross without being discovered. As he sat motionless, thinking of what could be done, he came up with an idea. Auron had always been a man to make do with what little he had. He bent down into the trash can and picked out one of the empty Red Bull cans. Taking aim, he lobbed it into the corner which he had previously been hiding in.

It worked. The guard snapped his head around to where he heard the empty can clatter against the polished tile floor of the lobby. He drew his gun and began slowly slinking along the wall, just as Auron had before. When the guard was effectively out of the way, Auron slowly crept out from the confines of the desk and began to tiptoe in the direction of the elevator. It was a good fifty feet from the desk to the elevator, but Auron was able to cover a decent amount of area noiselessly and quietly. Soon, he was ten feet away from the elevator, successfully under the protection of near-total darkness. He moved forward, being very careful to dodge the glass shards on the ground. Just a few more steps and he would press the button and be on the elevator.

_Kkk-kk_.

A stray piece of glass had worked itself underneath Auron's foot, shattering under his weight and making more than enough noise. The guard was evidently quite spooked, because he whirled around and actually shot his gun in the general direction of the noise. It missed Auron by a good ten feet, but even Auron was quite startled by the guard's jumpiness. Conspicuous or not, Auron did not plan on going out in a lobby, so he aimed his M-9 at the guard (whom he could see, even though the guard could not see him) and shot him in the chest with a tranquilizer dart. The neurotoxin was injected straight into his Vena Cava, the largest vein in the body. Within seconds, the toxin had traveled to the guard's brain and he slumped to the floor, out like a light.

Auron quickly glanced in the guard's direction and saw that he had fallen in a dark part of the room. There was no need to hide his body.

He pressed the only button on the elevator's panel and the doors opened on command. He stepped in quickly and inserted his key card in compliance with the computer voice he heard. Once his code was effectively confirmed (courtesy of himself), he pressed the button for the 41st floor. The doors closed and he felt the elevator jolt to life and began to rapidly speed him up 550 feet of skyscraper. A few seconds later, he pointed his pistol at the small elevator light that illuminated the box and shot it, instantly plunging him into total darkness.

The bug in his ear suddenly hummed, buzzing to life. "You're in," the voice said.

"Not without being discovered, though," Auron said. "Tell me what's in Seymour's office. I don't want any more surprises."

"His office is normally dark," Kinoc said. "Satellite imaging shows him nowhere near the office; he's several floors below you. The only light on in the office is his desk lamp, I believe. You have plenty of places to hide."

Auron nodded and killed the connection as he felt the elevator slow to a halt. He readied his gun and pointed up, near the top of the elevator doors. He expected the unexpected, and was ready to shoot out any hallway light he might come across. However, the doors slid open to reveal a completely dark hallway. Kinoc had told him previously about Seymour's surveillance mind games, but the numerous TV monitors that Auron barely made out at the end of the hallway were devoid of any imagery. He slowly crept out of the elevator and down the hallway, listening for the sounds of the room. Anything out of the ordinary, and he would be instantaneously invisible.

He came to the end of the hallway and scanned the office, looking for necessary hiding places. Behind the desk, there was an alcove with two potted plants that was almost entirely dark, and would be when he turned off the desk lamp. There were plenty of chairs he could hide behind that he saw to his left. However, he also saw a steaming mug of something resting on the table, so he wrote the chairs off as too risky. Apparently, Seymour had just been here. He didn't want to be discovered by the Mayor. If Seymour alerted security, Auron would be nobody and the SIA would deny any ties with him, leaving him to rot in a prison cell. So, it seemed that the potted plants were his best choice. Before he continued on, though, he retrieved a small white pill from his suit and dropped it in Seymour's drink, which smelled like peppermint tea.

"What was that?" Kinoc asked him.

"Sleeping pill," Auron grunted in response, making his way over to Seymour's desk.

"Pretty crude, don't you think?" Kinoc asked, laughing at the apparent absurdity of drugging Seymour's drink.

"It's no less crude than a dart sticking out of his head," Auron said shortly.

"You certainly cover all your bases, Auron," Kinoc said, sounding impressed.

The CD he was meant to download on Seymour's computer was tucked safely inside his sneaking suit. After confirming that the office was indeed empty and no cameras were on, he stood erect and walked over behind the desk to Seymour's computer. He jiggled the mouse to wake up the monitor and turned off and unplugged Seymour's lamp. With the computer ready, Auron began to hack it. The mission briefing had provided the necessary information to get past Seymour's security defenses. Auron entered a necessary series of passwords and decoding sequences to be able to access the desktop. When he was in, he opened the D drive on the computer and inserted the CD. Auron had no idea of the contents of the CD, but soon found out that it wasn't a program or a virus as he had expected. It appeared to be just an ordinary Data disc.

However, Auron could tell that the file on the disc was extremely well-protected. When he clicked on it, half a dozen password screens appeared as well as a timer. Quickly, Auron closed out of all the screens in case the file was programmed to delete itself in case of an attempted security breach. The downloading process was easy. Auron had been provided with the computer filename under which he was supposed to put the CD file. He smiled. After performing a search for the file in question, he found that it was just a video game program, the least likely place to look for incriminating information. He commanded the computer to copy the file from the CD to the computer file after getting past three different virus and spyware blocking programs. After another fifteen seconds, the transfer was complete.

Auron ejected the disc and removed a small piece of sandpaper from his pocket. To ensure that the disc was only used once, he began to rub the sandpaper over the disc's surface, rendering it useless. He tossed the CD into the trash can under the desk and turned off the computer monitor. Drawing his M-9, he began to make his way back toward the elevator. As he moved toward the elevator, however, Auron began to develop an uneasy feeling that something was about to complicate things. He had gotten these hunches several times before when he was employed full-time with the SIA, including just before Jecht was killed. Therefore, Auron decided to retreat back to the alcove with the potted plants and wait for a few minutes while the hunch ebbed away.

"Get hidden! You've got incoming!" Kinoc warned.

Auron chuckled. "You're almost no help whatsoever. You know that?" he said.

Before Kinoc could answer, Auron the elevator doors slide open. He could see the hated Mayor stroll down the hallway and sit down in the chair next to his mug of tea, which was still steaming slightly. The mayor had a cellular phone pressed to his ear and was conversing with somebody unknown to Auron at the moment. The hiding man watched with slight amusement as he saw the mayor take a big gulp of his tea. The mayor laughed at whatever was being told to him by the person on the other end of his phone. It was a high-pitched laugh, not evil at all, but rather girly. It was hard to believe, in a way, that Seymour was who he was.

Seymour began to speak. "Yes . . . yes, that's good, Tromell," he said with a grin. "I like that idea very much." Silence for a few seconds, then, "Okay, now you're pushing it. Just because I give you praise doesn't give you liberties to try and change my ideas." More silence. "What are my motives? You should know my motives, Tromell! It is the will of Yevon. Heretics are not to be condoned. They have no right to demand that we share this world with them when they don't even believe in the deity who's responsible for all our prosperities!"

"I hate his rhetoric," Auron whispered.

"So do I," Kinoc agreed. "But keep your ear trained on him. He mentioned something about ideas and motives."

"I don't want to say over the phone," Seymour said in a tone of finality. "I am a cautious man. However, I will say this much: something big is going to happen very, very soon. You'll know it when you see it. Have you arranged my hiding place?" Silence. "And you are fully prepared to take the post as Mayor of this city when I have fled?" More silence. "Then it is done. The world will watch as I begin the Revelation. Blood will spill and fear will spread throughout the land like a disease." More silence. "Yes, I am fully prepared. Get ready to take me to the secure location on Monday at eleven hundred hours. I'll be on the pad." Silence again. "I'm done talking to you, Tromell. I've become extremely tired all of a sudden. Yes, we'll be in touch." Auron could hear the sounds of a cell phone being snapped shut.

"Coming from Seymour, that's something no man wants to hear," Auron said.

"Agreed," Kinoc replied. "We've already got surveillance on him. We'll know where he's going before Tromell does."

"A few more minutes, and I should be out of here," Auron said. "That pill works fast."

"As do you," Kinoc said. "Well done, as always, Auron. Your flight leaves in an hour. I suggest you hurry."

Auron was tired of people stating the obvious. "I don't need your advice, sir," Auron said. "As far as I'm concerned, once this bug is out of my ear, I never worked for you in my life."

Kinoc sighed. "Have it your way, then," he said. "Just know that you're always welcome to return. And what you just overheard might very well save innocent lives."

The line became silent, and as such, Auron could faintly hear snoring coming from the easy chair across the room. He tiptoed to the hallway, eyeing the Mayor with disgust as he passed. The elevator was still on the 41st floor, and he stepped into it, noticing that the light bulb in the ceiling had already been replaced. Well, now there was no need to be sneaky. He stepped inside and pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator wasted no time in whisking him down, and he exited. Walking over to the nearest window, he opened it and began to rappel his way down the side of the building. He had the tools to avoid the lobby, and he would do so. A few seconds later, his feet touched solid ground, right next to where he had left his trenchcoat. He donned it, maneuvered to the sidewalk and merged with the other people on the sidewalk, effectively blending into the citizenry.

Mission Complete.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle, Morgan's Deli Shop.  
22:19.  
Sunday, November 24.__

Splat. Paine scowled as half of her turkey sub fell out of the end and onto the wax paper that the sandwich had come in. Such was the price she paid for getting extra mustard. Crudely, she grabbed the wad of mustard, lettuce and tomato and stuffed it back in the hoagie before taking another huge bite. She hadn't eaten since leaving Zanarkand International Airport almost 24 hours ago, and she figured that she might as well get a quick bite while she waited for any word about whether or not her services were needed. So far, however, her employer had remained silent. Not that Paine cared either way. In fact, she was kind of hoping that he wouldn't call, because if he didn't, there would be time for another hoagie.

She heard her palm pilot beep from within her satchel. She quickly dropped her sandwich, wiped her hands on a paper napkin, and retrieved the little device. The screen, despite months of use, was barely scratched, and she saw that she was receiving an e-mail from an untraceable account. Downloading a few seconds later, Paine saw that the message contained word on her mission status. Drawing out the tiny black stylus, she tapped the screen to bring up the message, and sighed irritably. She was needed after all. Even though she was hoping for zero (solely for the sake of more eating time) hits, she was satisfied with seeing that there was only one hit that needed to be done.

Paine was also receiving a second e-mail as well, no doubt carrying the data on the target. She clicked on it, briefly scanning the e-mail as she picked and ate bread off her hoagie absentmindedly. She laughed when she saw the hit. It was only two blocks away; she could easily walk there. Also, she was bewildered at why such a man would need to be killed. He was just a security guard; there couldn't be any way he was protecting valuable information. Nevertheless, she wasn't paid to question whom she killed.

Discreetly, Paine reached down into her satchel and replaced the palm pilot. Getting up from the table, she drew her silver nine millimeter semiautomatic handgun and unloaded the near-empty magazine, replacing it with a fresh one. Paine had many idiosyncracies, one of which was that she would never begin a hit or series of hits with a cartridge that wasn't full. It was also a safety precaution. If in fact her target had figured out some way to defend itself, she would need more than three bullets to take it down. She armed the gun and turned off the safety. Tipping with a hundred, left the deli shop and began to walk the street.

Cautious really wasn't the right word to describe the professional assassin. Rather, she was confident and saw through to the very end of a scenario. Therefore, she had no fear of walking down the sidewalks of Bevelle with her silver pistol glinting off a nearby street light, clenched in her left hand for all to see. Even if the police were called on her, passerby had no idea where she was going, and she was very adept at disappearing into thin air. Although, for Paine, thin air usually meant a commercial plane. She never stayed in one spot for too long. Always being on the move lessened the chances of being caught. Four years of experience in the private sector taught Paine a great deal about what it was like to live a life on the move, always on the run from people who knew too late that she existed.

Nobody saw the pistol tonight, however, which was neither bad nor good. Paine was indifferent that way. If anybody raised an issue with it, Paine always had a few extra rounds for that very reason. More than working for the money, she didn't like people. They were so under-appreciative of life and what they had. They always thought they had it so bad. That their life couldn't possibly get any worse. Their marriage fell apart. They got fired from their job. Well, guess what? They're still alive, they still have a roof over their heads, and they still have friends. But it was always easier to focus on the negative. If life was so bad, why didn't they kill themselves? They were too chicken, that's why. So Paine gave them a hand. People only appreciate what they have when they're on the verge of losing it. Paine's job reminded people to enjoy life.

Or, rather, her gun did.

She had reached the location of the target. The door was probably opened by somebody on the inside since she could see a security camera sweeping every angle of the entrance. Entering that way was not an option. However, there was a very stiff awning underneath one of the side windows. She figured, at 130 pounds, that she was light enough for the awning to support her weight so she could slide in a second-story window. Replacing the gun, she studied the awning for a moment, judging her next move. She took a running start and grabbed hold of one of the awning's side braces, hoisting herself up. Once she was on the awning, she gradually eased her full weight onto the brace, and though it creaked dangerously, it held. Slowly and carefully, she equipped a silencer on the end of her pistol and shot out the window. Quickly, she glanced behind her to make sure nobody spotted her as she broke into the building. When the coast was clear, she replaced the gun in its holster and gracefully slid through the window and onto the second floor.

Almost instantaneously, she located the elevator and pressed the down button. After a minute, she heard the telltale ping that signaled the arrival of the elevator, and the golden doors slid open to admit her. She pressed the G button, and the doors slid shut. Ten seconds later, she was on the ground floor and exited the elevator. The sight that she expected would greet her eyes did not. Instead of being neat and orderly as a lobby should be, the place looked trashed, what with broken glass littering the floor. Just in case Paine was to meet with somebody unwanted, she drew her pistol. Clenching it firmly in her hands with her left index finger wrapped around the thin metal trigger, she began slowly walking forward. Carefully, she sidestepped the small shards of glass on the floor and kept to the shadows. She noticed that several light bulbs had been shot out or blown out, but she suspected the former.

The security guard's desk was void of any human presence, so Paine slowly walked over to it, red eyes scanning her surroundings intently as she went. She was almost to the desk when she saw the target sprawled out near a corner with a small dart sticking out of his chest. Paine chuckled to herself. Apparently somebody had not yet finished the job, so she was called in for cleanup. But there was plenty of time for that. In the meantime, Paine walked over behind the desk to search for anything useful. By useful, she meant detrimental to her escape. Indeed, she saw the video feed and kill switch for the security camera outside. She drew a switchblade from her pocket and cut the wire. Instantaneously, the video feed from the camera ceased to exist. Just in case, though, she decided to do some additional trimming on other feeds.

"Freeze!"

Paine jerked up from where she was cutting another camera wire and saw the security guard standing twenty feet to her right-front, pistol pointed directly at her pale forehead. She felt her gun twitch in its holster, as if readying to be fired. Paine was quite certain that she would make it out of this alive. Certainly, she had touched hands with death in many more serious ways than this. She scrutinized the guard as she stood upright. He looked nervous, but the hands holding his gun were steady. A small bead of sweat was forming on his forehead. Perhaps the reason that he appeared slightly thrown was because Paine didn't look nervous in the slightest.

"Back away from the desk, nice and slow!" The guard commanded.

Paine obeyed wordlessly, slowly walking backwards away from the U-shaped desk. Her hands were in plain sight the whole time as she walked. The guard inched closer, keeping the gun trained on Paine's head the whole time. Soon, he was a mere few feet away from the young woman, who still was watching every move he made, waiting to seize her moment of opportunity. She could even see his chest rise and fall rapidly with adrenaline. Then, he removed his right hand for the gun and clasped it to his radio.

That was the guard's first and final mistake. Paine knew enough about the conscious mind that it was nearly impossible to train oneself to effectively multitask. With part of the guard's attention diverted to radioing in for backup, some was diverted from his trigger finger reflex. That was all Paine needed. In one swift movement, she swung her right forearm into the surprised guard's extended arm, knocking his gun to the floor. With her left hand, she reached for her holstered silver pistol, instantly aiming and firing two silent rounds into his chest. The guard shook violently as each bullet pierced his flesh, spattering his uniform and the shiny gold-colored badge on his shirt as he thudded to the floor. However, the guard was still alive. He watched with bloodshot, fearful eyes as Paine reached over him and turned off his radio her gun still firmly clutched in her left hand.

"P-please," he whispered. "Don't kill me. I . . . I have a wife at home . . ."

"I'm sure you do," Paine said stoically. "But unfortunately, there are a billion people with whom you share this world that don't care." She raised the pistol, pointing it at the frightened man's forehead. "The compassion that the world has to offer only stretches so far, I'm afraid, and not far enough to stop my trigger finger." With that, she fired the final round, and the guard stilled.

Without a second thought, she unscrewed the silencer and dropped it back in her satchel. Picking up her satchel and replacing her gun, she walked briskly out through the front doors of the tower, hailed a passing taxi, and sped off in the direction of the airport, never to look back.

Mission Complete.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand Harbor.  
22:22. __  
Sunday, November 24._

Alpha One was already feeling the anticipation for what was to come. And, it seemed, Mother Nature could tell as well. The wind had picked up nicely, rocking the small yacht he was currently aboard from side to side. White caps were common in the harbor, of course, especially with the coming of winter storms. He loved coincidence; the weather only added to the ominousness of the surroundings. The only thing missing was lightning, but thunder snowstorms were uncommon even for a city like Zanarkand, a city that had seen everything.

Well, almost everything.

Alpha One was going to prove just that. He turned to his counterpart, predictably code-named Alpha Two, who was sitting on a bench adjacent to the side of the boat. She was calibrating the focusing knob on a telescope body tube, getting ready to affix it to the tripod that had been secured to the floor at the rear of the boat. Another identical telescope was already set up next to the empty tripod, aimed at a break in the clouds that had formed in the sky. A camera modified to take pictures in low-light settings, had been affixed to the eyepiece of the telescope. They were, after all, pretending to be skyscape photographers.

He glanced at Alpha Two, who was now visually inspecting the telescope to make sure the package fit correctly. It was a fairly plain-looking telescope on the outside, a black four-inch diameter Celestron telescope with one sighting scope, called the viewfinder, and an eyepiece on the end. However, these telescopes had been modified slightly. The viewfinder had been replaced and a large rectangle had been cut out of the bottom end to make room for the battery that was attached to the package. All the innards of the telescope had been removed to make room for the package. In short, the telescope tube was just a disguise.

Alpha Two finished calibrating the device after several more minutes, and together they positioned the telescope on the tripod. It was made of hollow steel tubes which were specially designed to resist heavy loads. Indeed, the package inside the telescope weighted about 57 pounds, much more than a normal four-inch telescope. Once the telescope was securely fastened and a camera attached to the front eyepiece (which did not need to be removed just yet), the two people sat down on the bench, facing the scopes. They were identical in every respect.

"There's just one thing left to do," Alpha two sighed. She grabbed a cellular phone and dialed a secure line to their contact.

The phone hadn't even rung once before there was an answer on the other end. "Yes?" the voice said. It sounded expectant.

"The package is ready to be delivered," she said.

"That's good to hear," the man said, sounding professional despite the good news. "The contact has met with success in Bevelle. All traces are eliminated. Security is bypassed and/or compromised, the mission is go. You are clear to proceed with-"

"Incoming!" Alpha One whispered. His partner quickly killed the cell phone connection and glanced wildly around. "It might be police. Your ten o'clock."

Alpha Two glanced in the indicated direction and saw indeed that Alpha One was right. There was a small boat bearing directly at them, and moving rather fast as well. She quickly pulled out a small pair of binoculars strapped to her belt and peered through them. Even though it was night out, the surrounding lights illuminated her surroundings just enough to make out some basic details of the boat. It was white and average in size, perhaps a private schooner. It was moving relatively fast, around 15 knots or so, give or take. She could see three men standing on its deck, one at what she assumed to be the wheel and two on either side of the boat. They just appeared to be standing there.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath.

What she saw next confirmed her partner's suspicion. She tilted her binoculars to the top of the ship, where she saw several large antennas, a radar dish, and bar lights. Just as her binoculars passed over the lights, they turned on. Red, white and blue pulsated in Alpha Two's eyes as she tore the binoculars away from her face and scrambled to be ready for the cops. They would be on top of them in about two minutes, maybe more if the already gusty wind lessened. That's what the skyscape photography bit was for. Hopefully the cops would buy their story.

In what seemed to be no amount of time whatsoever, the patrol boat had pulled up alongside the small craft. Both people scanned the police boat, looking for any sign or warning that they knew of their operation. It didn't seem to be that way though; the situation appeared similar to that of a cop pulling over a speeder. They eyed the M-4 automatic rifles clutched in the officers' hands warily, however, anticipating any need to duck for cover. Normally, both agents would have carried pistols of their own on them, but in case they were to be boarded for whatever reason, a pistol would have clashed with their story as skyscape photographers.

The police officer who had been piloting the boat addressed them first. He turned on his flashlight and shined them on Alpha One and Two.

"Good evening," he said cooly. "How are you two doing today?"

"Good as can be expected when one freezes their ass off," Alpha one replied just as cooly.

"I imagine," the officer responded. "Coincidentally, that's the very reason I've come to talk to you. It's dangerous to be out here on the harbor, especially on a night like this. The wind is gusting at 60 miles an hour, more than enough to tip over a small craft such as yours, and the air temperature over the water is already in the negative teens. Can I ask you what you're doing in the harbor tonight?"

"We're photographers," Alpha Two piped up. "Skyscape, if you want to be specific about it. We figured a few pictures of the sky on a night like this would make for a good picture in a calendar series we're doing, what with tonight's storm and the city lights reflecting off the waves in Zanarkand Harbor. The snowflakes add a magnificent touch."

"Are those your cameras over there?" the officer asked, nodding to the telescopes.

"Yes they are," Alpha One responded, walking over to them so that his body blocked the officer's view of the scopes. "State-of-the-art cameras, designed to shoot pictures in any environment."

"You plan on shooting a still picture of cloud features and snowflakes on a boat that's rocking ten degrees from side to side?" The officer asked suspiciously. He shined his light on the parts of the telescopes that were not blocked by Alpha One. "And those don't look like cameras to me. They look like astronomy telescopes. My son has one that looks almost exactly like your own."

Alpha One and Alpha two glanced at each other. They had counted on the fact that they would get a cop who just wanted to check on them and make sure they were okay. That or a cop who was cold and tired and wanted to go home; that way he wouldn't linger. Or a stupid cop. There were plenty of those too. This cop, on the other hand, appeared very intelligent. Every lie had a way to be discovered, and the cop was quick to point out all the errors in the story. Even though the cameras were designed to produce a clear image with motion, the waves were still too much to produce an image of any quality. It was also a bad break that the guy was familiar with astronomy.

"Do you mind if we take a look around?" the cop asked, climbing aboard without waiting for an answer and motioning for his two counterparts to do the same. Almost robotically, they stepped onto the boat as well.

Pity the good cops were always killed.

Alpha Two looked at her partner, who nodded discreetly. As the three cops were patrolling the boat with the use of their flashlights, she slowly made her way toward the front of the boat where a small box was kept underneath a bench. Inside was their last resort- two suppressed pistols with full magazines and one spare cartridge. Beta Command discouraged the use of the pistol, as more deaths meant an increased likeliness of something incriminating being left behind, but had authorized their use if circumstances required them. This, of course, included protecting the mission's success.

"Scuba gear?" One of the cops piped up from in the wheelhouse, looking at Alpha One and chuckling. "How do you explain that?"

"Certainly we don't just use this boat during the winter," Alpha One said, as if he expected the cops to find the gear. "We don't see the need to pack and unpack this boat in accordance with the four seasons. Just prepare for all and you're set." The cop just turned around and continued to search the wheelhouse.

Meanwhile, Alpha Two had sat down, pretending to wait patiently as the police searched her boat. If the cops went up and closely looked at the telescopes and saw the batteries and trigger sticking out of the front, they would have to be killed. That was the only visible giveaway that Alpha One and Two were not who they said they were. Alpha Two slowly reached down and noiselessly opened the box containing the pistols, clasping one firmly in her right hand and gripping the silencer of the other, ready at a second's notice to throw it to her partner. She jumped slightly when she heard one of the cop's radios crackle to life. Her movement caused the guns to rattle in the box, and she looked at the cops expectantly, as if she knew they would hear the pistols. However, a particularly large white crest chose that moment to propel itself into the side of the boat, sending it reeling slightly and distracting the cops from any small noises that might have been made. She sighed in relief.

Her relief was short-lived, however. The lead cop, the cop who had done all the talking thus far, was making his way over to the telescopes, peering intently inside the viewfinder of the right one and looking through the camera lens. As she predicted, he looked bewildered when he saw nothing through the other side of the scope. He hit the telescope softly and peered through the viewfinder, tilting the telescope so that it pointed at the sky. The telescope moved roughly and he peered through the camera lens again, but still couldn't see anything.

Of course, it was difficult when there was a Stinger Missile Launcher in the way.

Alpha Two gripped the pistol in her left hand even tighter, letting the tip of her index finger gently touch the cold metal of the trigger.

If you touch the front of that telescope, you're never leaving this boat.

"Hey guys, somebody's spotted a trafficking ship five miles out," one of the other cops said sharply. It was the cop whose radio had sprung to life earlier. "We gotta go."

The lead officer turned around, attention effectively removed from the telescopes. He turned to Alpha One, who was still standing guard next to the other telescope. "If you're not out of this harbor by the time we return, we're arresting you and confiscating this boat and everything that's on it," he said sternly as the officers climbed back onto their ship. "You folks have a nice night."

And just like that, the ship was gone.

After the police were safely away from the boat, Alpha Two removed her hand from the box and dialed her contact's number again. "Police," she said. "They showed up, but were called off. We're clear. They didn't find anything."

"It's 22:33 now," the man at the other end of the line said. "You're past the target time. Execute immediately." The line went dead.

"We're go to proceed," she said to Alpha one, pocketing the cell phone. "Hurry."

She and her partner quickly stepped into the wheelhouse where it was warmer and stripped down. They tossed their clothes into a corner and quickly worked their way into the scuba gear, custom gear that was insulated for very cold waters. Luckily, that cop hadn't looked close enough to see that it wasn't used during the summer at all. After the scuba gear was affixed, they walked back out to where the telescopes were.

Alpha Two realigned the one that the lead officer had tampered with. As she did, the viewfinder passed over red neon letters, letters that spelled out and signified the logo of the Zanarkand Abes. The viewfinder went past the letters and focused on two protrusions. Both were square and could contain a small amount of people, but Alpha Two had been told the one that was supposed to be targeted. She magnified the target in her viewfinder and activated the launcher. Everything was set and ready to go.

"Set the charges," Alpha One barked.

In five minutes, there would be nothing for the Coast Guard to confiscate.

"Charges set," Alpha Two said, pressing a button on her remote detonator. "Launcher activated. Locked onto the Box."

"Launcher activated. Locked onto the Box," Alpha One repeated, training his eye on the target. "On my mark. Five. Four. Three. Two. One." As the countdown started, both wrapped their index fingers around the SML trigger.

"Fire."

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.7 ~~~~~**

_  
_Zanarkand, SIA HQ.  
22:30.  
Sunday, November 24.__

Kinoc had the whole world at his fingertips. He could call anyone anywhere at anytime of his choosing. He knew the world, and it knew him. One could go so far as to say that he even controlled the way it worked, the way it behaved. There was some truth to it; the only other person who ranked higher than he on the entire face of the planet was Mayor Braska, whose title as head of the DASC put him above Kinoc on the proverbial totem pole. However, Braska and Kinoc had maintained a friendly working relationship, acting together in the best interest of the people and proving that government and politics indeed had the potential to be beneficial, productive and rewarding.

Yeah, right.

Snow was falling heavily outside, although in the last few days, the sight had gone from awe-inspiring and mesmerizing to commonplace and problematic. However, Kinoc still held the former view. Try as he might, he still understood that he did not hold the Supreme Power of the land. He was never much of a spiritual man, but he always was captivated by the raw power of weather and natural occurrence. It was beyond any man's scope of power or comprehension; it was the Will of the World. Moreover, tonight, it would serve as a loving touch of atmospheric irony. Absolutely nothing could dampen his mood right now. He had just received word that Auron was out of the Mayor Tower in Bevelle and his mission had been met with success. That was the riskiest part of the plan, and it was executed flawlessly and without a hitch.  
His laptop beeped, and he woke the monitor with a jolt to the mouse. Glancing briefly at the screen, he saw an e-mail. It was from Paine, and was only two sentences long. The first detailed a confirmed kill of a security guard on the Tower Floor. The second was a Bikanel account number to which her payment was to be wired. The money was already ready to go, and he completed the transaction in less than two minutes– five grand for the hit and expenses. Pocket change to Kinoc, who had endless funds, both his own and that of taxpayers. Money certainly was power in a lot of ways. Almost every way.

Happiness comes from unexpected places. Kinoc found it highly amusing that he was looking forward only to hearing from three people. He had already heard from two– Auron and Paine. The only call left was from his contact in the water. She had called earlier, but the connection was unexpectedly terminated. If there was anything grating on his nerves at all, it was this loss of contact. However, it was considered. If there was any suspicious activity concerning this part of the mission, the connection was to be dropped. If this was the case, however, Kinoc hoped everything worked out for the best.

The connection light on his desk phone began to beep, and he instantly picked it up. "Yes?" he said.

"Police," said a female voice. Kinoc knew who it was. "They showed up, but were called off. We're clear. They didn't find anything."

"It's 22:33 now," Kinoc said urgently. "You're past the target time. Execute immediately." He put the phone back in its cradle.

Kinoc fought to contain his joy as he got up from his chair, reveling in the fact that his complex and daring plan had worked out as envisioned in his head. There was just one more thing to do, but this was for his sole enjoyment only. He wheeled his 2000-gil leather desk chair out from behind his mammoth desk and rolled it to the huge skyscraper windows to the northwest. He had a good view of the entire city from his 121st floor office, but he was interested in the harbor, and what was next to it.

It's strange, isn't it, how the whole world can hinge on two loyal soldiers, a desperate man, and a woman who just didn't give a shit.

**~~~~~ ZFC 1.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Abes Stadium.  
22:32.  
Sunday, November 24. __

"The Abes win it! The Abes win the Northern Title Match, six to one!"

Tidus swam a victory lap around the enormous sphere pool, the pool where he had just played the best game of his life. For the first time in a very long time, his mind was preoccupied only with healthy thoughts– his team winning the Northern Title in his rookie year, and his date with Yuna later. Now, with a win under his belt, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with her. It was admittedly much the same as with any other girl: fuck her brains out and move on with life the next morning. But this time, it would be different. Tonight was special, and in a way, Tidus saw Yuna as special too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something he liked about her, and it was ebbing away at his resolve to just have sex with her. Oh well, he could improvise. He always did anyway. And what did he care about any of this anyway? He just won his team a championship game!

By this time, his lap had taken him to the entry tunnel to his bench. He quickly swam up it, where he saw his rejoicing teammates popping and chugging bottles of beer (a Zanarkand tradition to use beer instead of champagne). They were all grins, shouting, laughing and congratulating each other by pouring alcohol over one another's heads. Tidus grabbed his own bottle, shook it up and sprayed his captain and friend, Wakka, with it. He laughed, took a swig of his own bottle, and promptly dumped the rest over Tidus's head. Tidus just flipped him off and began shouting for no reason, slamming heads with another teammate.

Then, he regained his coherence. "Dude, Wakka!" he shouted. "Do you know where Yuna is?"

"How would I know?" Wakka roared back, spraying a fellow teammate with beer. "I'd say in the Top Box, ya? People that rich usually watch the game from there."

"Thanks!" Tidus said, maneuvering his way out of the bench and into the stands.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the stadium, two young well-dressed women stood up, getting ready to leave. Their hands were sore and their throats were raw from all the clapping and cheering they did. One girl was blonde, with hair done up in many braids of assorted length held to her head by small hairclips. The other was a brunette, who wasn't focusing on the crowd or the game at this point, so much as she was looking for somebody. A certain blonde-headed sports star who had given (what she had heard was) the best performance of his young career.

"Do you think you enjoyed it more up here, in the nosebleed seats, Yunie?" the girl asked her companion.

"The Top Box didn't fit with the rest of the atmosphere," Yuna replied. "I think I was quite happy with my sporting experience in the nosebleed seats instead." She was craning her neck in every direction. "Do you see Tidus anywhere?"

"Nope," Rikku replied happily. "But I think you said that he wanted you to meet him at the East entrance to the stadium, right?"

"Yes, but I have a hunch that he's going to want to come find me right away," Yuna said, smiling. "No doubt he wants to give me a blow-by-blow account of what happened in his mind as he played the game. Also, I'm sure if I don't see him soon, I can always go to the entrance like we had planned."

"Wait! Isn't that him?" Rikku asked, pointing to Yuna's left.

Yuna whipped around, and indeed saw a young man trying desperately to cut through the traffic of fans threatening to suffocate him. Yuna cupped her hands together and shouted his name, but her voice was so hoarse and the roar of the crowd so loud that there was no chance Tidus would hear her. Yuna wondered where he was going, but saw the Top Box about 200 feet away, to her left. She assumed Tidus was heading there, so she took off in pursuit. This prompted Rikku to follow close behind, keeping a firm grip on the hood of Yuna's jacket so that they wouldn't separate.

"Oh, Yunie, I also wanted to tell you that Dad called," Rikku said. "He was drunk beyond all reason."

"Isn't he a compassionate drunk?"

"Yes, but he is when he's sober, too," she replied. "I hate it when he drinks, he gets all mushy and he forgets everything the next morning."

"Tidus!" Yuna called as best she could.

Finally having heard her, he turned around. Seeing Yuna tailing him, he grinned and started retreating from the direction of the Top Box. "Yuna!" he called, walking faster.

"Hey, Yunie, what's that noise?" Rikku asked. "It sounds like a jet engine. But it's really close!" Rikku had no time to say anything else, for the source of the noise became apparent.

**_22:37:04_**

A deafening explosion rocked the world.

Heat.

Pain.

Screams and cries. The cries of men, women and children alike, penetrating the heated air.

Blood spattering flesh, alive and dead. Yuna felt her own open, surprised mouth fill with such spatter.

Death and destruction. Debris flying at her. She ducked just in time.  
A world turned upside down. Tidus was lost to her eyes. Did he call her name? Was that a chunk of wall that just struck his head? Or was it a hallucination?

Hallucination . . . if only . . . Yuna thought as she blacked out on the concrete steps of the burning stadium.

Another explosion.

Yuna didn't even hear or feel it.  
_  
**22:37:06**_

Less than a mile away, 1500 feet above the top of the world, a smiling man's face was illuminated by two brief flashes.

Mission Complete.

* * *

Alright. How was it?

Now, here's the deal. The month of August marks the start of my job. I will most likely not be working on my story at any time during August, and will hope that I can find time somewhere once my last year of high school commences. I'll make time, don't worry. The good news is that I have no clue where to begin chapter eight, so a month of work will give me plenty of time to think.

REMEMBER: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Also, remember to leave your comments or critique in a review. I love to see them. Please review.

Alright. Part One is over. I will see you eventually, and we'll all see what happens to the characters. Until that time, have a good one.

SirGecko


	8. Actions of a Wounded City

Well, hello all. It seems like I updated much longer ago than six weeks. My summer's been a little slow . . . anyway, this would be the (anticipated) chapter eight. It's enormous, at 21 pages. So, hopefully it will be worth it. The only thing I could say I'd be worried about is that it's slightly anticlimactic. But I hope that's not true, and it's worth the read. And now, for my author's notes and . . . all that shit.

A short chapter summary . . . the following characters are featured in this chapter: Cid, Braska, Auron, Kinoc, Wakka, and . . . Yuna and Rikku. So right there, you know they're not dead. Anyway, the site of the attacks is discovered . . . and lost again. Kinoc and Braska meet to discuss an action plan, and Auron makes a monumental and life-changing decision. Leblanc is seen as human. What will happen to Zanarkand? Chapter eight sets the stage for the fallout from this attack.

Anyway, some of the old, boring usual crap: the disclaimer, and the warning. Here they are and stuff.

**I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

**_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

That seems to be it. And now, we begin part two with chapter eight. Enjoy it, folks.

* * *

_**PART TWO: CITY OF THE DAMNED**_

_What defines a human being? What influences the way they act, the choices they make, the people they hold dear and hold them dear, the way they see and embrace life? How much can the human psyche stand? What defines a friend, a good person, a moral person? Where will life lead, where will it begin, where will it end? Where will life take a person? Why must life be so unfair? Why do people die? Why is it that people are so afraid of death?_

_Death is absolute. It comes to everybody, nobody can escape it, even though there are those who believe they can. One doesn't know when they will leave life behind; it could be in fifty years, twenty years, six months or one hour, or anywhere in between. Those who realize this disturbing fact of life come to cherish what little time they have, pleasant or unpleasant as it may be. Life offers no second chances. Life offers no mercy. Life is difficult yet easy, unpleasant yet wonderful, spontaneous yet structured, monumental yet mundane._

_Even for the damned. _

* * *

**Chapter 8: Actions of a Wounded City**

* * *

_  
_Zanarkand Harbor.  
22:38.  
Sunday, November 24._

A city, no matter its size, suffers when a part of it is harmed.

One can walk into a fancy restaurant and pay no attention to the soft music filling the room to add to the atmosphere of ambient tranquility. However, one walks into a restaurant that is silent and feels that there is something missing. Such is the same with a large city– Zanarkand, the oldest, most famous, most resilient city in Spira suddenly seemed to stop breathing. The sounds of passing cars, chatting tourists, honking horns and hissing brakes ended. The city became eerily silent. Traffic, businesses, even restaurants had all diverted attention to the unfolding horror in the western part of the city. From every building and every street corner, people could see a towering column of black smoke began to materialize and attempt in vain to blend in with the rest of the skyline. Some would ironically say that the smoke was the loudest noise to be heard in Zanarkand.

Even the weather seemed to be holding its breath. The wind had stilled for a few moments, and the white caps in the harbors and seas surrounding the city temporarily ceased to exist. The glow of the city lights reflected off the solid wall of cloud that was threatening to suffocate Zanarkand. The light, in turn, shone slightly on the still waters of the bay, illuminating the water so that it sparkled faintly. Bountiful amounts of snowflakes were settling themselves on the surface of the water, only to be melted moments later by the sea. Once carried by the gusting and violent wind in a near-horizontal trajectory, now it just danced in the air, spiraling and zigzagging, taking its time before gently touching down on the surface of the water. With the still air, the snow was now allowed to be graceful in its contact with water.

Still, all was not calm in the harbor. The source of immense joy, celebration and excitement from hometown fans just moments before, the Zanarkand Abes Stadium, nestled right over the water itself, was now blanketed in thick black smoke. Normally, after a victory, the stadium spotlights would be shining in the sky, the beams of light skipping off the reflective clouds. Huge water cannons would be launching the sphere pool water back into the harbor (from where it came) in a high arc over the stadium walls. Drunk people would be shouting and partying in the middle of the streets. Fireworks would be lit all around the stadium, illuminating the surrounding buildings and harbor in brilliant flashes of white, red and yellow sparks. However, a totally different phenomenon had overtaken the stadium and the people surrounding it:

Silent chaos.

A Coast Guard patrol boat cutter sliced the relatively still water at a maximum speed of 28 knots, sailing parallel to Yevon Avenue around two thousand feet from the coastline. Eventually the cutter reached the stadium, skimming past it at a seemingly slower pace than was normal. It was ominous and eerie, for the whole stadium was dark with the exception of the flickering red neon letters spelling out the team's name. Other than that, it was a smoking hollow shell. Far from silent though it was, it was still difficult to hear the screams from within the stadium over the roar of the cutter's engine. All the same, they were slightly audible, and the hearts of the three men on board the cutter wrenched as they glided past the stadium. Even worse, they could do nothing. At least, not at the moment.

"ETA: thirty seconds."

It was in sight now: a small private yacht resting completely still in the water. The wind was starting to pick up again, and the three Coast Guard officers could see the boat rocking from side to side with the waves. The three men, now past the stadium, picked up their M-4 assault rifles and went on an approach vector that would pull them along parallel to the small yacht. The coast guard cutter itself was more than 100 feet long, dwarfing the other boat. However, they had been aboard this boat before, suspicious of the two people who were on board. Called away for a false drug trafficking report, the coast guard officers didn't have time to finish their search. The attack could have been prevented, and the search would only have taken another minute at the most. But one minute was all that was needed to divert attention from the plans to execute the most violent attack on Zanarkand in modern history.

It is possible to live with such guilt?

The cutter pulled alongside the small, rather old yacht and slowed to a stationery position. The three men reboarded the small boat with very different intentions than from the first time, spreading out to search different sections of the boat. Despite the fact that the yacht was about 45 feet long, the area which the three men had to cover was small. And with three fully automatic assault rifles being aimed expertly in any direction, verbal persuasion was not needed. They had been given the order to tear the yacht inside out for the two 'photographers' on board and to kill them without question if necessary.

"Clear!" came a shout from behind. Apparently they weren't in the front. The man who shouted went to help search the middle.

The man who had moved to the rear of the boat, which was facing the stadium, was examining the telescopes aimed at the building. Easily finding the hinge that snapped the two halves of the outer tube together, he undid it. Swiftly and carefully, he knocked it away and swore violently when he saw the uncovered SML resting dormant on the tripod. He made his way to the other telescope and uncovered the very same thing. There were no missiles currently inside the launchers, and the batteries had been removed. There was no way these two pieces of equipment could launch anything else.

"Clear." He called, lowering his gun.

The call for the middle took a little longer, as the wheelhouse and stairwell to the cabins were there, but eventually the okay came from the middle as well. "Clear!" The third man confirmed.

"Motherfuckers jumped ship," said the first man to the other two when they had joined him. "Fuck."

The two missile launchers used to cripple the stadium were less than three feet away from the three men. Both followed the line of sight created by the missile launchers, trying to imagine the path of the missiles as they tore the southwest side of the stadium to pieces. In the distance, on the famous Yevon Avenue, they could hear and see multitudes of police, fire and ambulance rescue vehicles swarming the perimeter of the suffering stadium. Hundreds were dead, that was certain. However, the missiles had hit the stadium five to ten minutes after the game had ended, so hopefully most of the people had cleared out. At this point, it wasn't even certain what had been hit.

"We left," the first man said softly. "I was right here fifteen minutes ago. Right fucking here. I had my hand on that goddamn SML, and I didn't even know it." He sat on the bench and buried his head in his hands. "What am I gonna tell the families of those people?"

"Hey guys, I hear something," the third man said, holding up his hand for silence. "Over here."

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It took all of five seconds for the second man to peek over the side of the boat and see fifteen pounds of high-explosive C-4 bricks strapped to the hull. Right next to the gas tank. The timer showed two seconds remaining, not enough time to even jump away from the boat. Not even enough time to alert his buddies. Not even enough time to make peace with Yevon. Just enough time to mentally say goodbye and to apologize to Spira and everyone in it.

With the third and final fiery blast of the night, the guilt of three men vanished forever.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time: Nobody inside knows.  
Date: Nobody inside cares. _

"Yunie! Wake up, okay? I know you're alive, you've gotta be. Come on now, wake up!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

_  
_Zanarkand Mansion.  
22:41.  
Sunday, November 24. _

*_riiiiing*_

Whiskey was Cid's favorite drink because it ensured the Al Bhed man a deep and untroubled sleep. Often, he would dream while he was asleep, but whiskey forced those dreams from his mind, allowing him to sleep away hours at a time. The job of being an international politician combined with the fact that he was Al Bhed demanded a few shots on occasion. Although, now, it seemed as if those occasions were becoming ever more frequent. Rikku was such a sweet girl. He knew his drinking bothered her, and he felt bad that it did, but he was also thankful that she didn't heckle him about it. His little girl hated confrontation in any form. He so regretted sending her to meet Seymour in Bevelle. One mistake after another, and yet she remained happy and carefree.

*_riiiiing* *beep*_

"H-hey, Pops . . . you there?" Silence did nothing to ease the panic. "Please, pick up the phone, okay? I'm in a l-lot of trouble. . . . oh no."

Happy and carefree? How was that possible . . . Cid was sensitive to the sound of his daughter's voice. The man could sleep through an earthquake and snore on with gusto, but all it took was a simple, desperate cry of, "Pops!" from Rikku to jar him from slumber. It was quite an interesting but understandable phenomenon– back on Bikanel, where Rikku lived for the first few years of her life, crime was unimaginably high. It was hazardous just to exist. Cid had learned to train his sleeping ear to the sound of her voice in case some harm were to come to her. She had only woken him like this twice before – once for a nightmare and once because of a huge thunderstorm, something she'd had an unexplained fear of her whole life. Nonetheless, he came to her aid to comfort her, without fail.

Of course, that's before he became a politician.

"Pops? I k-know you're there, you have to be! Pick up the phone already!" Snoring did nothing to quell the fear. "You gotta tell me what's happening! I don't even know w-what's going on!" The girl pleaded, sounding as helpless and scared as is humanly possible. "Oh please, please pick up the phone!"

Cid moaned and rolled over on his king-sized bed, now positioned so that his head was facing into the pillow and his snores became muffled. For the first time since he started having his drunken slumbers, something was threatening to wrench him away from the dreamless oblivion. His sleep became restless, drifting ever closer to the point at which one wakes. Her voice was finally luring him awake, but it was silent for a few seconds, and Cid retreated back into the black depths of deep sleep and began to snore loudly again.

"Oh, no . . . where are you, Dad?"

Rikku never, ever called her father by the term 'dad'. It was either 'pop', 'pops', or 'poppy' when she was really hyper and wanted to annoy her father, or she called him by his actual name when she was angry (which was indeed very seldom). Cid had never heard her call him Dad in his life. And, since he was still asleep, that was the way it remained.

"W-well, looks like I'll have to manage on my own . . ." she sounded totally despondent now. "I'll t-talk to you later, and Yuna . . . Yuna may or may not . . . oh Yevon, somebody help me, please!" Hysteria resonated in her voice.

"Rikku?" Cid mumbled into his pillow, reaching up for the phone where it rested above his head on the windowsill. He fumbled for the phone, but his fingers, instead of grasping the little device, knocked it off the sill and under the bead, behind the headboard. "Shit," he muttered.

"B-bye, pops." The phone went silent.

Cid didn't even hear her, having rolled onto his other side and then back to sleep.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time Remaining: 2 hrs. 52 min._

Rikku felt fortunate that there was no risk of being trampled. The area of the stadium where she was had been relatively vacant before the attack. Though most of her field of vision was obscured by billowing smoke from the nearby smoldering section of stadium, she could still hear helicopters roaring not far overhead. Even though the wind was gusting something fierce. Every few minutes, a spotlight blinded her, bathing her in its piercing light for a few seconds before going on to sweep other areas of the stadium. Every time, she'd hope that one of those helicopters would be there to get her and her cousin out of there. Maybe, just maybe her father got the message.

"Oh Yunie, you're awake!"

The spotlight kept scanning, leaving Rikku to hope in vain.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
SINN HQ building.  
22:44.  
Sunday, November 24._

People trust corporate news . . .

News bulletins were flooding Leblanc's spacious glass-top desk so fast that she couldn't keep up. There was no verification for any of them, no proof that they were fact or fiction. In fact, most were eyewitness accounts. Sports reporters who had been on the scene and in the stadium at the time of the attack were cut off from the studio. There was no word on whether or not they were even alive, let alone in any physical or mental state of mind to report any news. Leblanc felt helpless; she felt it was her duty to report the truth to all who were tuned in to her broadcast, and when she and her fellow constituents didn't even know what was going on, she didn't know how to present herself. All elements of professionalism escaped her mind. She was just as lost and uninformed as each of her viewers.

And it frightened her to death.

"Almost the entire force of the Zanarkand Police Department and the Fire Department, as well as ambulances from Harbor View Regional Hospital, have been dispatched to the scene of the attack," she said to the cameras. "However, all rescue vehicles and personnel are reporting difficulties in getting there due to the massive volume of stalled traffic on Yevon Avenue and other neighboring major streets. Um, there's also still no word on exactly how much, er, damage has been caused . . . we're still working to bring you that information."

Leblanc, at that point, didn't care what she did or how she looked on national television. She began haphazardly flipping papers around on her desk, looking for something new to report or elaborate on. Anything to keep her mind off of the view of the stadium from the window behind her. When she found nothing, she rested her face in her hands before emitting a garbled sigh. She would not cry on the air. She wouldn't; it was a fact. She told herself she wouldn't, but it was difficult. Whether it was fear or sadness or shock, or maybe all three, she didn't know. All she could feel was a weight in her gut and the desire to keep her viewers calmer than she was.

Leblanc looked up at the camera. "We here at SINN can only guess at how many people have been injured, how many have been killed, and how much damage has been caused," she continued, now improvising just for the sake of talking. "Once again, loves, the story tonight is that two projectiles have struck the southwest side of Abes Stadium . . . they seem to have knocked out both primary power and the generators as the stadium is, for the most part, totally dark. Whether the power supply to the stadium was the intended target is still unknown. There is . . . no doubt great concern as well about whether or not the sphere pool has suffered any damage. The potential for flooding, if indeed the pool is cracked or otherwise damaged, is a scenario even more terrifying."

She then cupped her ear. This was usually a sign that she was receiving more news. Typically the news was already laid out for her on the desk, with notes, phrases and key points already outlined and ready to be broadcasted. This time, however, she was updating news as people told it to her, followed by a hastily-typed summation of the said bit. There was no guarantee of accuracy; she just reported what she was told.

"Okay, we have some new developments now. SINN correspondents close to the attack site have gotten eyewitness reports of a third explosion out in the Harbor from where the projectiles were fired. As of this moment, we are unsure of the cause of the blast, what may have been destroyed or if anybody has been killed as a result of this explosion. The fact that this latest blast occurred about five minutes from the initial attacks is a cause for great concern as to the possibility of more attacks to follow. We'll have more on this as information continues to trickle in." She paused, looking at somebody off screen before nodding. "We're going to take a short break right now, but we'll be back on the air, hopefully with more information. So look for us, we'll . . . we'll be here to stay with you through all of this. The time is twenty-two-forty-seven, loves, we'll be right back."

"And we're off," a cameraman shouted.

Leblanc let out a huge sigh and rested her head in her hands, shaking her head. Taking several deep breaths, she once again began to shuffle through the multitude of reports that she had no time to broadcast, looking for something worthy of informing the public about. All she saw were specific people's reactions and statements (who cares), eyewitness accounts of the blast (let's not relive Hell), and reports of multiple traffic accidents at the time of the blast (lovely). A whole multitude of nothing to report.

The producer, who had been standing nearby, came up to Leblanc. "Are you gonna make it?"

"Yeah," she mumbled to her desk.

"I brought you some coffee, you look like you need it," he said, setting a steaming Styrofoam cup of the black liquid on the desk.

"Dammit, love, I don't need coffee!" she snapped. "I need you people to find me something relevant to broadcast. Honestly, who cares what Luca's top model has to say about a terrorist attack?"

"Well . . ." the producer said struggling for words. "She is famous and a lot of people look up to her . . ." as he spoke, Leblanc was glaring daggers at him. He sighed. "Listen, I know any answer I can come up with won't be satisfactory, so I might as well just shut my mouth."

She sighed again. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I . . . it's just my job to be as professional and indurate as possible." She chuckled at her statement. "When I get emotional and scared, so does everybody who watches me. If I have something to talk about, I'm fine. But there's nothing that I nor anybody else wants or cares to hear. So then I'm forced to babble, and it's usually emotional. And I hate it, love. I just hate it."

"We can get you a replacement, Leblanc, it's not a problem," the producer insisted.

She sniffed and shook her head. "No, I'll just get used to it," she replied. "I guess I just have to accept that fact that I am human like everybody else." She smiled wanly. "Right, love?"

"Of course," he said gently.

"We're on in ten seconds!" the cameraman shouted.

The producer nodded and got out of the way just as two new bulletins appeared on her desk, tabbed with a red pen. A red pen stroke usually meant something good, and as Leblanc glanced briefly at the reports, a feeling of relief consumed her. Finally, some answers. Finally, some reassurance. And finally, something worthy to report and distract herself with. It was funny; the more she thought about the news, the more she wanted to see the stadium for herself. All she had to do was turn around in her chair and look out the window.

No, bad idea. "Welcome back, loves. For those of you who have just found out and tuned in, Zanarkand has fallen under attack by unknown parties, using what we assume to be missiles or rocket propelled grenades to inflict massive damage on Abes Stadium, a prime target for civilian casualties." She paused. In the distance, the towering plume of black smoke could be seen.

Almost instantaneously, she settled again into her professional demeanor. "We have finally received a detailed report on the actual explosions within the stadium. At twenty-two-thirty-seven, a projectile struck the . . . struck the Top Box, an area reserved for ultimate and top-quality viewing experience at the stadium. The second projectile struck the Al Bhed Psyches' players bench approximately two seconds later, and both structures have been completely destroyed. This apparently raises the question of motive regarding these attacks and whether or not the attack was racially motivated. Whether or not the structural integrity of the stadium has been compromised in any way as a result of these two blasts remains unknown. We'll have some aerial footage on the air for you shortly.

"Also, Mayor Braska has been informed of the attacks and, as we speak, is making inquiries to the DASC, the SIA and the local City Council about where to go from here. At twenty-three-forty-five tonight, he will be issuing an intercity broadcast, detailing a plan of action and debriefing the people as to what exactly happened tonight. We here at SINN will be sure to bring you all details of this broadcast as well as follow-up stories and commentary." She paused and, with a sigh, continued. "Hopefully we will learn more from this broadcast, such as information on casualties as well as who is responsible for these attacks. All that remains to be seen, however, as we anxiously await Braska's broadcast, to be aired live in fifty minutes. We'll take another short break, loves. It's twenty-two-fifty-six; this is Leblanc, reporting to you live from SINN HQ in downtown Zanarkand . . ."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time Remaining: 2 hrs. 37 min._

Rikku looked her cousin over, checking to make sure that she was okay. Other than the fact that she was a little dizzy and confused, Yuna appeared to be all right. Rikku was just about to turn away when she noticed a dark patch on Yuna's white sweater, on her upper left arm. Curious, Rikku gingerly rolled up the sleeve of the sweater and gasped at the sight of a huge laceration on Yuna's arm. Yuna cried out faintly as Rikku carefully examined the wound. It was probably still bleeding, but Rikku couldn't tell by sight. Better to be safe than sorry, however. She reached underneath her coat and tore off the midriff of her tank top, fashioning it into a makeshift bandage which she tied around Yuna's arm.

"Thanks," Yuna said softly. "Give me a few moments, and I think I'll be okay."

Rikku grinned in relief. "Yay," she whispered back. "Yunie's gonna be all right."

Yuna's face, previously showing gratitude, now emanated fear. "Tidus," she said. "Oh Yevon, Tidus. Where is he? Rikku, you have to find him."

Rikku looked puzzled. "Why?" she asked.

"Because he might be hurt!" Yuna said shrilly. "I don't even remember seeing him before this all happened, but I know he's close by. I know it."

"I saw him," Rikku said. "You even called out to him, remember? He turned around and then the stadium blew up and stuff."

"Go find him," Yuna said again. Rikku looked worried. "Don't worry about me. I'll be right here."

Rikku nodded and disappeared into the haze and snow.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Liberty Boulevard.  
23:02.  
Sunday, November 24.  _

"Get me Mayor Braska immediately."

Wen Kinoc would swear to anyone who would listen that the instant the first blast occurred, his phone began to ring nonstop. So far, he'd been on the phone with Shelinda in Luca, O'aka the ZPD chief, Rin in Home, Jyscal in Guadosalam, Belgemine who was on vacation in Kilika, and Lulu, the DA of Zanarkand. Eventually, Kinoc had gotten fed up with the incessant calls and delegated them all to other underlings so that he could move with the response at his own pace. After all, the attack itself was only a fraction of the equation he had to consider as SIA director. He needed the time and the freedom to go about handling the crisis as he saw fit.

There were indeed many factors that Kinoc had to consider in order to avoid a worst case scenario with regards to reactions to the attacks. Currently, he was in his car, being driven to the Governor's Mansion to discuss such matters with Braska himself. The poor man went ballistic when he found out that the Top Box was one of the missile's final targets. All he wanted to do was get over there and make sure his daughter and niece were okay, but the SIA director had eventually assured him that wouldn't be necessary. Word would come eventually, and whether she was alive or not would be revealed in due time.

But for some reason, Kinoc doubted it. Especially considering his daughter was most likely dead.

"Braska, Wen," the man said curtly. "I'll be there in less than five to meet you and discuss a plan. Where's Cid?"

"He's still in his room, crying," Braska said as professionally as possible. "I tried to find out what was wrong, but all he could do was mention something about 'being so close' and a 'phone call.' You know, Rikku was there with Yuna. He's just taking it differently. He'll be out in due time."

"Overreacting?" Kinoc offered.

"Oh no, you have no idea how much I would like to curl up in a dark corner and weep," Braska said.

"Who would have thought?" Kinoc said, laughing. "The great and respected mayor of Zanarkand . . . human like the rest of us."

"Do you have any new information regarding this whole affair?" Braska asked.

"Well, I can only infer at this point," Kinoc replied. "However, there is a lot to discuss. All are merely possibilities. And what few answers I have only raise more questions. The main thing I've come to talk to you about is damage control. The results and effects of this attack on a local scale. You need a plan. I'm coming to advise."

"Your assistance really isn't necessary, Kinoc," Braska said. "I think I'm perfectly capable of ruining things on my own."

"So unlike you, Braska," Kinoc said, laughing once again. "Always an optimist; why are you so down?"

There was silence over the connection. Then, "I don't need to answer that."

"The attack happened six minutes after the conclusion of the game, Braska," Kinoc sighed. "That's more than enough time for Yuna to have moved well away from the Top Box." Braska was about to respond, but Kinoc cut him off. "I'm there. Meet me in the entrance hall." He flipped his cell phone shut.

The 47-year-old SIA czar scoffed as his pulled into the entryway to Zanarkand's Governor's Mansion. The media was buzzing around the entrance to the mansion like wasps. Some were set up in front of their vans while others were near the entrance, hoping for a spokesperson of some sort to come out and give them a briefing. All things considered and laid aside, all Kinoc saw the media good for was to babble nonsensical bullshit that had little relevance with the issue being discussed. Even in a situation like this, Kinoc expected no more than that from them. More than anything else though, they were annoying. Anchormen and women always bothered him when an international issue surfaced, all with questions and expectations he could not satisfy. Whoever said that the media didn't have an agenda was simply spewing lunacy (much like the media they misinterpret).

'Here it comes,' he thought, shutting his eyes as he opened the door to his car.

It seemed as though the instant his door handle clicked, a dozen reporters flocked mercilessly over to him, microphones and tape recorders brandished like short swords, waiting to catch every word and breath uttered by the SIA director. That was another thing they were good at: talking all at once. Each reporter was barking questions at him at the same time so that he couldn't understand a word of what any of them were saying (even though he didn't care either way). Even though the man only stood 64 inches tall, the reporters cowered away from him as he glared and exited his car. It was as though an invisible wall surrounded the man three feet on every side of him.

Kinoc tried his best to ignore them as he made his way to the Mansion. As expected, however, they tailed him, all asking for statements regarding the crisis. Kinoc managed to keep his peace until he made it to the front door where he wheeled around to face the stragglers.

"When you're all quiet, I will talk," he snarled. Immediately, the reporters fell silent. "Thank you. Now, you'll get no comment from me regarding this crisis as we don't know enough yet to make any intelligent judgments or assumptions."

"Can you tell us who's responsible?" a young man shouted.

"Believe me, you would know if we knew who caused this attack," Kinoc said shortly. "As of this point, we only know what, when and where this has occurred. We have yet to figure out who and why. You know what we know, and you will be informed of new information as necessary. That's all I have to say."

Kinoc pushed past the reporters, who started talking all at once again, and made his way to the front doors of the mansion. Without even waiting for somebody to open the door for him, he barged in and shut it. Leaning against the door, he breathed several deep breaths to calm himself. Kinoc, despite his serious and reserved personality, was admittedly slightly nervous about this whole affair. What would the effects of this attack be? He was actually scared of the consequences if swift and precise action was not taken immediately. He just hoped Braska was willing to go along with his idea.

"There you are." Kinoc heard Braska's winded voice from the other side of the entrance hall.

The poor man looked awful. His hair was a complete frazzled mess, hanging in front of his face, his eyes were red, and his suit was in complete disarray. The corners of his mouth seemed frozen in a perpetual look of sadness. His red silk tie hung loosely around his neck, and the white shirt of his suit was half-undone and wrinkled. The mayor looked exhausted, tired, scared and apprehensive all at once, and his eyes were darting everywhere as if worried somebody would attack him from behind. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, no doubt the cause of its messiness.

"Fucking media," Kinoc said bitterly. "Can't leave us well enough alone."

"I'm sure they're just as scared as we are," Braska said softly. "They just have a different way of showing it."

"Yeah, a real fucking . . ." Kinoc trailed off. "Never mind. We have work to do."

Five minutes later, the two men were seated in a small parlor room on the north side of the building, a glass of whiskey in front of Kinoc and a huge steaming mug of coffee in front of Braska. Kinoc had a manilla folder resting next to him, its contents not even known to him. Back at the SIA, he had asked for the most up-to-date information to be ready for him in his car, and this folder apparently contained it. Should any new word come in, he would be informed by his secure cell phone line. In the meantime, there were repercussions to handle.

"Okay. I know little more than SINN does," Kinoc started. "Pathetic I know, but the night's still young."

"You have nothing to offer me?" Braska said. "Kinoc, I have a live news conference in thirty minutes, I need to go to the public with something new. They're liable to tear each other apart out there if we don't calm them down soon."

"Information doesn't calm people down Braska, propaganda does," Kinoc said. "All you have to do is say the right words."

"I'd prefer to stick to the truth, if it's all the same to you."

"Well, let me take a look at this file and see what we've got." He opened the manilla folder to find only three sheets of paper inside. Speed-reading through them, he looked up and smiled slightly. "Well, SINN doesn't know that the third explosion was a boat going up in flames. A coast guard cutter nearby was severely damaged, so there's good reason to believe that the boat that exploded was the source of the missiles."

"What about the cutter?" Braska asked, taking a huge gulp of his black coffee, squinting when he burned his tongue.

"There was nobody aboard, and personnel logs showed three men on duty at the time of the blast," Kinoc replied, scanning the report as he spoke. "It's a safe bet that they were inspecting the other boat when it exploded. Nobody would have survived that blast."

"This is great," Braska sighed. "Three explosions and we can basically assume that hundreds plus three people have been killed. That really works to reassure."

"Braska, shut up," Kinoc said. "Just because you don't know anything right now doesn't mean you won't later. Your conference should just be used to summarize what's happened and to reassure the people of this city."

"And tell them just how much to be afraid, right?" Braska said bitterly.

"Essentially, yes," Kinoc said, shutting the folder and setting it aside, folding his hands and leaning forward to stare at the flustered mayor. "And now we need to talk about where to go from here. You're not going to like my suggestion, but here it is anyway."

"What suggestion?" Braska said. "Tear the stadium apart looking for clues? Impose restrictions on civilians in the harbor?"

"No, in addition to that," Kinoc said. "Brace yourself. Our collective heads have been shoved up our asses by this whole affair. And until we know what's going on, they will stay there. Since we're so confused by this whole thing, harsh restrictions and controls have to be imposed, Braska."

"Where are you going with this, Kinoc?" Braska asked tiredly. "Just spit it out, please."

"Fine. I strongly advise that you declare Martial Law immediately," Kinoc said bluntly.

Braska blinked several times and leaned back in his chair, as though Kinoc's words had physically assaulted him. Braska was very well known for being a peace-loving man and critical of authoritarianism. He disliked the military and often spoke ill of wars past, even ones that reaped more benefits than problems. This, in fact, was one of his main sources of public criticism. By declaring Martial Law, he would impose military control in the city to Zanarkand, establish a curfew, and essentially create an authoritarian environment.

"The response from Martial Law will be worse than the response to this attack, Kinoc," Braska said. "Declare Martial Law? Absolutely not."

"And you would forego a chance to find and possibly apprehend the party or parties responsible for the greatest attack on Zanarkand in more than two hundred years just so people won't write you hate mail?" Kinoc said, aghast. "I'm surprised at you. I'd think you'd want to know who did this as much as I."

"You don't think I do?" Braska asked. "I know there's better ways than martial law."

Kinoc sighed and rested his bald head in his hand. The mayor sitting across from him at the small round coffee table eyed him intently, eyes flashing nothing but resolve and stubbornness. The oil lamp that rested between them flickered, oil almost dry. An eerie glow was cast off the mayor's face as he sat motionless, mulling the idea of Martial Law over in his mind. There was no way possible to declare that law without an ensuing riot. And Braska would not allow his city to ascend to chaos.

When he voiced that last thought, Kinoc looked up at him and said, "And how is what we're facing now not 'chaos?'"

"It's shock," Braska said.

"Braska, let me give it to you straight. The people of this city are going to need somebody to blame. Don't let it be you. If you don't take immediate and drastic measures to apprehend those responsible, you will regret the future public outcry. Your pussyfoot approach only opens the window for more attacks. The world will only remember how you chose to be overcautious and take insufficient action."

"What are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you that Public Enemy Number One is the public itself. If they aren't comforted in knowing that we, the government, are taking lawful action to catch ourselves terrorists unknown, who knows what will become of your reputation and your city."

Kinoc rose from his seat and walked around to Braska's side of the table. The mayor looked up at him quizzically, but Kinoc reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured a shot, handing it to the mayor. He accepted and downed the shot wordlessly before wrenching the bottle from Kinoc's grasp and pouring himself another glass. Kinoc smiled and turned back to sit in his seat, eyeing the mayor as he threatened to pour himself a third shot, but then stopped mid-pour. Braska got up, walked to the nearest window and poured the liquor out the window.

When Kinoc looked at him questioningly, Braska responded, "Cid's a wreck because of that stuff. I'm ashamed of myself for even thinking that it could alleviate pain."

At that moment, an aide rushed into the room. "Braska sir, there's a call for you from O'aka. He says it's of utmost urgency."

"What the hell does that incompetent asshole want from you?" Kinoc said to Braska as both men got up from the table once again.

"If I knew, I wouldn't take his call," Braska said as he walked out the door.

Braska followed the waiting aide down a set of stairs to an underground basement. Braska had only been down there once, just to tour it and see that it was there. This was the Tactics Center in Times of Crisis, or TCTC. The TCTC was outfitted with state-of-the-art, top-secret telecommunications systems and satellite tracking technology. The room was dark with the exception of several computer and TV monitors here and there, each displaying various things such as maps of Spira and the city of Zanarkand. It was a relatively small room, no bigger than a medium-sized living room in a modest house. It was not a war room in the slightest, rather, it was an intelligence- gathering center. It also had a secure phone line.

Braska walked over to a small desk with several different phones on it, each being worked by personnel. "This is the Mayor." Silence. "Yes, I'm aware of the situation. If you need crowd control, deploy the SWAT." Silence. "Yes, of course, I would expect all medical staff to-" More silence.

"O'aka, what are you trying to tell me? There is no way to override the Stadium's security system?" More silence. "Too windy to deploy air rescue? What is this, the dark ages?"

The aides surrounding the mayor looked up at the man worriedly. Braska rarely, if ever, got angry, but right now, he looked more than that. In addition to seeming shocked and confused, he looked positively livid. The hand clutching his phone tightened as though choking a bitter enemy to death. His eyes were wide, and his other hand was balled into a fist. As though like a fish, his mouth was opening and closing several times; whether from disbelief or utter outrage, nobody knew. Maybe it was both. Finally, he managed to speak.

The man slammed his fist on the table and shouted, "I don't care what it takes, O'aka, but you find a way into that stadium, even if it's with a goddamn pickax. I will not wait two hours to rescue those people!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

_  
_Abes Stadium.  
Time remaining: 2 hrs. 12 min. _

Wakka faced the wall so that he couldn't see the panicked onlookers trample each other. It was enough that he could hear their screams pierce the night, their footsteps pound the concrete floor of the immense stadium. It was a sight he didn't need to see to understand. Even though it was difficult to see in the first place, what the smoke and snow swirling in the air. Things were still so fuzzy. What had happened, and why? How many were dead? He glanced nervously at the sphere pool, and saw that the leak from the Psyches entry tube had finally been stopped. Wow . . . if the sphere pool had gone, who knows how many more would have drowned.

It had been slow going trying to reach his friend Tidus. How long had it been? An hour? Three hours? He was sure it hadn't been near that long, but it was easy to lose track of time when something this monumental occurs. Wakka coughed, inhaling some stray smoke that had drifted his way with a gust of wind. The stampede was just about to pass. Through the haze of snow and ash, Wakka could see more than 30,000 survivors huddled against the East side of the stadium, leaving the other side, the attacked side, virtually deserted. If Tidus was in that mass of people, there was no chance that Wakka would find him.

Therefore, acting on faith and gut instinct, he continued to follow the wall, inching ever closer to the breach in the stadium wall. Reality and psychology moved opposite each other, for it seemed to take hours for Wakka to get close to the remnants of the Top Box, whereas he actually made it in three minutes. The area was eerily deserted. Later, Wakka would faintly recall how unspectacular the site of the explosion was. Though there was an immense cloud of black smoke stemming from a disorganized pile of rubble, hardly any flames were visible. It was so much more spectacular in the movies. And much less horrifying.

"Tidus! Can you hear me? Speak up if you can, ya? Tidus!"

His ears rang. Infinity consumed his mind. But still, his legs kept moving, his eyes kept scanning, his hands kept shifting debris. He coughed and squinted against the wind, which was whipping blinding soot and snow into his face and making it near-impossible to see. It was still very cold in the stadium, and he was faintly aware of himself shaking violently in his blitzball uniform as he continued slowly toward the remnants of the Top Box.

He felt someone latch onto him, and looked around to see a teenage girl clutching his arm. He could see her face, blackened by ash and soot, staring at him with a helpless and pleading expression. As a helicopter spotlight swept over them, her face was illuminated. He saw swirl eyes.

Al Bhed. Heathen.

"Please, help us!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle, MIX.  
23:21.  
Sunday, November 24.   
_  
Zanarkand under attack. All flights to Zanarkand postponed indefinitely.

The scrolling red text reflected off Auron's sunglasses.

His flight was no different.

_Djose Airways Flight 2237 to Zanarkand.  
Depart: 23:04  
Gate B-12  
CANCELED_

Perhaps it was a bad time to cast away the SIA.

Even in Bevelle, the bustling airport stilled considerably as passengers waited for news on Zanarkand's condition. Flashing TV monitors were patched into SINN and people had stopped in the middle of the terminals, fixated to the face of Leblanc. In the background, outside Leblanc's broadcasting room, people could see a huge swirling cloud of smoke enveloping the stadium. Helicopters were swarming the city the sky like angry bees, spotlights shining everywhere, but most concentrated on the smoldering behemoth of a building.

Rain lashed Mystic International Airport relentlessly, and was forecasted to do so until midmorning. However, Auron didn't plan on sticking around that long. He had nowhere else to go other than the gate from which his flight was to leave. Now that the plane was grounded, Auron was stuck. However, he was a calm and patient man. Quietly sipping a foam cup of coffee flavored with almond, he was currently engaged in an activity he did a lot: thinking. Deeply. About everything. He did not seem perturbed by the events unfolding in his home city on the exterior, on the contrary. Auron looked rather placid about the whole affair. While other passengers and people had their attention devoted to Leblanc's coverage, Auron appeared to be indifferent.

Inside, he was a mess.

Auron was a man of many things. One of the things he was not, however, was stupid. He was quick to discern the difference between coincidences and cover-ups. Where John Q. Public saw coincidence, Auron saw conspiracy. Not in the way a paranoid person would, however; Auron was just perceptive. There were things about this attack that smelled of a very elaborate plot right from the get-go. Indeed, it would be a lie if Auron said he didn't think the whole affair was in some way connected to that file on Seymour's computer.

The file that he, Auron, had placed there.

At this point, Auron also saw himself as a failure. A mouse going for the electrified cheese over and over again. Once again, against his better judgment, he had placed his trust in a man who deserved nothing of the sort. Auron would have bet his Corvette that Kinoc was somehow involved in, or at least had some foreknowledge of, the attack on the blitzball stadium. He had failed in following and adhering to his own personal principles. Again.

But even more than that, he had failed in keeping the one promise he ever made to anybody in his life– protecting Tidus. Auron knew that the boy was playing in that game; he had overheard news of their victory and his role in it just prior to the news of the attacks. Auron was not one to make empty promises, and as much as he may have disliked Tidus, he didn't hate the kid. Even more than that, he was a guardian. In Auron's mind, his number one priority was to honor the wish of his friend.

"Sir Auron?"

Auron looked up to see two men looking down at him where he sat in his chair. They wore black suits, highly polished shoes and sunglasses. Their faces were clean-shaven and devoid of emotion, hair neatly slicked back and professional. Empty suits. No doubt they were SIA gremlins.

"What of it?" The seated man spoke curtly.

"Sir, would you come with us please?" the man to Auron's left said just as curtly, before they turned around and began walking away. When they noticed Auron had neglected to move, they turned around and came back. "Sir, come with us."

"I go nowhere without reason," Auron said. "Explain yourselves and I might not embarrass you with a struggle."

The two men glanced at each other in unison before looking back at Auron. "SIA, sir. The Director himself gave us orders to escort you to an independent terminal. He has arranged transportation to get you back to Zanarkand immediately."

Good old Wen.

Ten minutes later, Auron found himself inside a plane the likes of which he had never seen before. Even in the dark and in the pouring rain, the runway lights and the surrounding glow of Bevelle illuminated the plane enough to where Auron could see that it was super-streamlined. It wasn't that large, either, larger than a private plane but much, much smaller than a commercial jetliner. However, Auron immediately took a liking to the plane. It looked fast, and fast was the way Auron wanted to move when getting away from Bevelle.

The inside of the plane looked even nicer than the outside. The two chairs that Auron saw were made of high-quality tan-colored leather and were spaced quite far apart, to allow for copious leg room. A medium size plasma screen TV was built into the seatbacks of each chair (or the wall for the frontmost chairs). The walls were the usual eggshell color that he saw in other commercial planes. Each chair had a small table attached to the arm to set a tray of food on. The first two chairs were separated by a curtain from the rear of the plane, but Auron was escorted the middle, where he saw a small bar outfitted with many different types of alcoholic drinks. Not nearly as many as the Blitz Bar and Grill, but enough to satisfy a fat-cat businessman for a few hours while he was in the air. The floor was plush-carpeted and the aisle was wide. It was indeed an expensive and luxurious plane.

Auron was asked if he wanted a drink, which he refused. The two men took him back to the front of the plane where he sat in the frontmost chair on the left. The man in the rear drew the curtain so that Auron was isolated in his own little section of plane. Auron's chair was immensely comfortable, fit for a nice bit of sleep on the way there. At least, that's what Auron would have said under more ordinary circumstances. Now, however, he was engaged in more sleep-depriving thought. But of course, he was interrupted.

"Phone call for you, sir," said the frontmost man, handing him a cordless phone and headset before both men disappeared into what Auron assumed was the cockpit.

"Auron speaking."

"Nice plane, wouldn't you say?" The voice of Kinoc came chiming over the line.

'The first words of a brand-new terrorist,' Auron thought bitterly. "Yes indeed."

"Cigrue-Kimvcdnays C-21," Kinoc said. "Try wrapping your tongue around that one. Seats up to ten, sixty-five feet long with a one-hundred-twenty-four foot wingspan. But the best part is that it's supersonic. With a cruising speed of about fifteen hundred miles per hour, your normal nine-hour trip will only take two and a half."

"Never heard of it."

"That's because you haven't been part of the SIA in awhile. It's a government-only model of the fastest business jet in the land of Spira. Just developed out of Bikanel six months ago."

"Leave to the SIA to save the best for themselves," Auron muttered dryly.

"Hey Auron, come on," Kinoc said jovially. "We're the SIA, and our technology is God."

"And the civilians get the hand-me-downs, right?" Auron replied, almost mockingly.

"They do indeed," Kinoc said. "The government always has to be better. But I need to inform you, Auron, there's a string attached to this whole thing. I'll bring you home on the condition that you come back full time to the SIA."

He was waiting for that.

Auron sighed resignedly. "Kinoc, I'm your man," he said. He winced as he spoke those four words he knew he'd come to regret.

"Wonderful news, and just what I wanted to hear!"

"Pardon me if I'm not glad about that."

Kinoc laughed. "Some things never change, I guess," he said. "I'll see you when you get back to Zanarkand, where I'll have a new set of objectives for you. The pilots have you tuned into the Mayor's broadcast when it comes on in five minutes. Have a good one." The line grew silent.

Auron dropped the phone, still wondering why he pledged his full loyalty to the SIA. Again. Putting his principles and his life at risk. Again. Actually, Auron knew full well why he was working for Kinoc. Again. It was quite simple, really . . .

To nail him.

Auron was no fool. He knew that Kinoc was, in some way, connected to the attacks in his city. He knew that he was responsible for Jecht's death, whether it be directly or indirectly, and Tidus's possible death. Auron's circle was crumbling around him. It was ironic. The only way Auron saw out of this was to plunge headfirst into it. By working for the SIA, he would be able to gather information that would be impossible to attain otherwise. His security clearances would be limitless. He had only one thing to watch out for: Wen Kinoc. If he ever caught wind that Auron suspected him . . . Auron didn't want to think of the possibilities. However, if he kept a low profile and played his cards right, he would know the truth.

And the truth was, he was an undercover undercover agent.

A new list of objectives, Kinoc had said. Auron had his own list already generated in his mind. It went as follows:

One: Do whatever Kinoc says.

Two: Be on guard.

Three: Stay alive.

Surprisingly enough, there was one more. His top priority, higher than even his own life. Call it a gut instinct, a hunch, whatever you want to call it, but Auron was absolutely sure that one thing would provide all the answers he needed.

Four: access Seymour's computer.

And then maybe, just maybe . . .

He would find repentance on the other side of Hell.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time remaining: 1 hr. 48 min. _

"You're Al Bhed, ya?"

"Uh-oh. You're Wakka."

Both knew the other, not personally, but through stereotype. Rikku knew that Wakka, the captain of the Zanarkand Abes blitzball team, was a strict Yevonite, very much like some of the followers in Bevelle. He was disliked especially by many people for his ardent and unflinching view of her race, for Zanarkand was a very accepting city. However, they also liked him because he was good at blitzball. Any attempt to dissuade Wakka of his beliefs fell on deaf ears, however, and he did not hide his feelings for her people well. Ironically enough, he was also known to be very kind and selfless. The question was: which part of him was dominant?

"Will you please help me?"

Wakka was about to wrench his arm from her grasp and continue on the search for his friend, but something held him back. What would anyone else do, an everyday Zanarkandian? Here was a girl who was in dire straights and in desperate need of help. What would he do if it were somebody else? Well, that went without saying; he would help them, of course. So, what was so different about this girl? Was it the way she thought? The way her eyes looked, the way she dressed? Or was it that she was just Al Bhed and nothing else? All these things didn't really matter in a situation like this, Wakka reasoned. If he were her and she were him, he would want her help. Regardless of the Holy Word.

Regardless of the Holy Word.

"Yeah, I'll help you. What can I do?" He followed the blonde as she almost giggled with relief and surprise.

Wakka smiled too.

Maybe she wasn't all bad.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Everywhere.  
23:52.  
Sunday, November 24.  
_  
Braska had, by now, just finished the overview and order of events of his news conference. His eyesight was rapidly deteriorating from all the flashing camera bulbs, but it was the media. The mayor had not bothered freshening up for his appearance on Spiran television, saying there were much more important things to focus on than the way he looked. Indeed, more than 35 million people had tuned in to his broadcast, more than the last Blitzball Final three times over. They were all waiting for word on the city; what was next? What would a powerful and resilient giant like the city of Zanarkand do, how would it respond? Would the city make it or break it? Even Braska didn't know.

"It's too early to say for certain who committed these atrocities and for what purpose, but I assure you all that I am working closely with all available resources. The local law enforcement as well as the SIA are cooperating to form a full and independent investigation into this crisis as soon as possible. I will be flying to Luca in the morning where I'll be meeting with the members of the DASC at headquarters to get the international response.

Braska sighed. "Now, I move on to the bitter pill we have to swallow. There's really no easy way for me to say this, but there is a problem with our ability to access the stadium. You see, the stadium was built not only for people security, but also sphere pool security. Measures were taken, should the integrity of the sphere pool be compromised in any way, to ensure that flooding was as localized as possible. We didn't want millions of gallons of water flooding the west side of the city, no no, so the stadium engineers made allowances for steel-reinforced barricades in front of all entrances to the stadium to keep the flooding contained within the stadium. Now of course, the people inside have means to stay above water as well. But that's not what we're dealing with in this case.

"The security system is irreversible. There is no way around it. But it's also temporary. The pumps would take about three hours to drain the stadium of a worst-case-scenario flood, so we only have to worry about three hours. Now, the missiles, as we now know the projectiles to be, set off the system because they destroyed the water passage between the Psyches' bench and the sphere pool. From what we've been able to observe aerially, the rest of the sphere pool is intact. However, the missiles still activated the system, which means we have no way into the stadium, and those inside have no way out until about one-thirty this morning.

"We can't get in by air either, I'm told, because the smoke cloud and snow put together with the wind would make it near-impossible to make any safe drops for any rescue personnel, and they would more than likely be trapped inside as well. So, until one-thirty . . . we're helpless. We can do nothing put pray to Yevon that those inside will make it out alive. The most we can do is monitor their condition from the air, and we do know that there are many thousands of people still inside, many moving about. So that, at the very least, is good news.

"So now, the question becomes: what do we do about finding out who is responsible? I have been advised on the matter by trusted counsel, and though I can concur that it is a harsh step that may generate some controversy, I also believe it is a necessary step to ensure the safety of this city. The time passed since these attacks occurred is still small, roughly 80 minutes now, I believe, is that right?" He nodded when an aide off-camera confirmed the figure. "This is still plenty of time for the perpetrators involved to still be in the area, especially with all air and sea traffic in and out of the city halted.

"The term is negative, I am aware of that. But this step will help law enforcement immeasurably to localize leads and follow up on possible suspects involved. I promise that this will only last as long as is absolutely necessary, not a second more. However, it is the order of this city and the council to invoke it.

"Citizens of Zanarkand, please allow me to tell it like it is for a minute. I don't know who committed this heinous act. I wish I did. However, we can find out much, much quicker if we instigate some long-forgotten and controversial policy . . ."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time remaining: 1 hr. 31 min._

"There he is! I see him! Careful, careful, easy, ya?"

"Oh . . . my . . . Yevon . . ." A scream.

"What's happened to him?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.1 ~~~~~**

"Therefore, it is the order of this city that, as of this moment, Martial Law is in place. Thank you. I bid you all goodnight."

The press shouted at the exiting mayor, demanding questions about his briefing, and about Martial Law. Braska did not turn to face them, and an aide took over to quell the media slightly. Other officials escorted the Mayor out of the briefing room, where, once in solitude, he leaned against the table and took several deep breaths.

Cid happened to be next to him. "The cat's out of the bag, Braska, it's in their hands now," he said gently. "You've done everything you can."

"Not yet," Braska said. "Get me my chopper now. I want you to be airborne in five minutes."

Cid looked puzzled as an aide rushed to carry out Braska's order. "Airborne? Where am I going this time of night?"

Braska began walking down the hall, not looking back at Cid as he spoke.

"You're going to find our daughters, and I'm going to try not to watch as my city destroys itself."

* * *

Welcome to part two of the Full Circle. We'll see where it goes from here (including me).

Also, I have finally figured out the statistics for this story. It will most likely be 16 chapters long, and part three will either begin at chapter 13 or 14 (haven't figured that part out yet). The story's main plot has been outlined, and I know all the major events that occur for the characters and the city from this point to the very end. Kinda cool, since I was a little unsure of the story's direction for awhile. If you want to know more (including a spoiler or two), let me know via review and I'll submit a report by private message.

Oh, and a little tidbit: the name of the aircraft Auron was flying on. I looked up supersonic jets on Wikipedia, and through some weeding found the futuristic design for the Sukhoi-Gulfstream S-21. The name given in the story is the Al-Bhed translation. All the schematics of the aircraft are accurate according to the description on Wikipedia.

And now, I must remind you always - Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Also, remember to leave your comments or critique in a review. I love to see them. Please review.

Well, that's it then. Chapter nine will be in the works soon, and up later. Until the time it is ready, I'll see you around. Have a good one and take it easy.

SirGecko


	9. Everything You Know is Wrong

Well, hello all! It's good to see you again. And wow, it's good to hear all your kind words with regards to chapter eight. I really had no idea that it would be received so well. So, a thank you to all my reviewers for their encouragement. This chapter is for those that reviewed. Enjoy it guys!

Also, send a big thank-you to l'ouiseaujoli for beta-screening this chapter. Thank you so much!

But first, some babbling and legal shit to hash.

Chapter nine breaks the record for longest chapter I have ever written since I started writing six years ago. It's over 21 pages long, and in all actuality, not much longer than chapter eight. However, there is no opener here for Part Two. All chapter. Kickass.

Alright, character appearances. First off, let me start by telling you that this is the first chapter since chapter two in which Kinoc does not make an appearance. Sorry for all of you who liked my Wen Kinoc (haha, right), he's not here this time around. But don't worry, he'll be back in number ten. Anyway, I'm rambling. Those who **do** bother to show up include Seymour, Wakka, Rikku, Auron, Paine, Leblanc, Braska and Yuna. Almost all the main characters are in this one!

Now for the summary. Yuna, Rikku and Wakka fight doggedly to keep Tidus alive while they themselves await a rescue that seems as though it will never arrive. Braska chats with Rin, the mayor of Home, to discuss possibile motives and outcomes of the attacks. SINN continues to do its job by reporting on Martial Law and the rescue operation. Auron meets someone unexpected on his way back home. And Seymour has a very disturbing phone call. All this and more will happen here, and now.

And here they are: the disclaimer and warning, blah blah blah.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

This is it. Go on, enjoy chapter nine for me.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 9: Everything You Know Is Wrong**

**

* * *

**

__  
Border of Bevelle airspace.  
00:01.  
Monday, November 25. _

It was standard procedure for passengers on any plane to be sitting in their seats upon takeoff. However, Seymour chose to do something else for this particular flight. The man realized that this would probably be the last time he would see his beloved city for a long time to come. Months, maybe even years would pass before his return, if indeed he did return at all. So, when his private plane took off from the tarmac, he stood at the rear of the plane, watching his city shrink through one of the tiny circular windows.

Because it was in the middle of the night and the weather was bad, not much detail could be seen of the city. However, Seymour pictured it as if he were leaving by day– the city and its suburbs spreading out and covering the entire lower quarter of the isthmus where it rested. Even now, he could see the massive flag of his city waving in a chilly breeze atop his office and home. He could see the Temple of Yevon, spotlights shining in the sky around the luxurious, cabalistic building. But even more, through the rain streaking his window, he could see the millions of tiny pinpricks of light that dotted the city at night. Gold, red, white and even blue bespeckled the ground below him. The lights even lit up the boundary formed between land and sea, so that the light reflected off the clouds slightly and made the sea shimmer.

Even for a man like Seymour, it was picture-perfect.

There was a knock from behind, and the man whirled around. "Sir, you have an urgent phone call." An aide stood in the aisle, looking at the mayor somewhat apprehensively.

"I thought made it very clear that we were to fly silently," Seymour snarled. That means radar and telecommunications. All communications. None!"

"The caller wishes to speak to you about a matter of utmost importance," the aide replied, standing his ground despite the irritated man glaring at him. "He said that it cannot wait."

Mayor Seymour continued to scowl at his aide, who tentatively handed him a cell phone and headset. As the scowl turned to a glare, the aide vanished hurriedly, leaving the Mayor to his own thoughts again. The white noise of the jet engines threatened to pull the mayor to sleep, especially at this late hour of the night. Considering the events happening abroad, he did not want to be disturbed until his feet were under solid ground and he could catch up on his sleep. His plans for relocation had left him unpleasant and irritable over the last day, and he was anxious for his relocation to be completed without any problems.

A phone call could mean anything.

"Seymour speaking," the man said into the phone. As he heard the other caller speak, he tensed slightly. "Yes, I had expected your call, sir, but not this quickly. Is something else amiss?" He paused briefly before regaining his footing in the conversation. "That's good to hear. Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" There was a pause for a minute as the other speaker orated. Then, "I am aware of the attack, certainly. The city has my condolences," he added, sounding far from genuine. "Yes. Yes, of course. No, sir, I have also been individually briefed. Why is it that you ask?"

At Seymour's last words, the caller on the other end of the line said something that made the already sallow-faced mayor pale beyond the point of pure white. He rapidly searched for something to lean against, and found it in the seatback of the nearest chair. If someone in the room were to observe the Mayor's behavior, that person would have thought it remarkable that Seymour could be this affected by anything, much less spoken words. Bevelle's mayor was always notorious for keeping a very level head, more level than even Braska up in the Arctic city of Zanarkand. Whatever had gotten to Seymour had to have been big.

"Well then, what do you plan to do with this information? You see, it puts me in a very uncomfortable situation, as I'm sure you can well-imagine. What is your motive of informing me that you know about my plans in the first place? You're assuming an awful lot by connecting them to Zanarkand."

The mayor was silent over the course of the next few minutes as the other caller explained what was disturbing. Over the course of those few minutes, the tone of the conversation, despite the mayor's reaction, began to shift for what appeared was the better. The mayor's expression, very slowly, changed to something between relief and cunning. This caller obviously had gotten trustworthy information through very secret sources. However, Seymour was an exceptional negotiator. The conversation would be won by whoever could call the best bluff.

He paused when the caller finished talking, immersing himself in the comfortable sound of silence. "All right. Continue."

Again, the caller spoke for several minutes as Seymour remained silent. All the while, the mayor was shaking his head, a wry smirk on his face. He was trying his hardest to gain the upper hand in the conversation. And, it appeared, he was beginning to do so.

"How can you possibly be aware of my assets?" He asked, chuckling. "That's preposterous." Silence again. "Well, all right. I can concede that there might be some financial snares in the future." Silence. Then he began to laugh, and said, "What guarantees do I have that we're not trying to con each other into execution?" Silence as the caller replied. "You do have a point. I am indeed a man of great faith, and I suppose that can apply to non-deities as well." He smirked. "Very well then. I do read of times when people were still good for their word, although most people, including me, thought that those kinds of people were gone, dead and buried."

He began to laugh again. "I apologize. I just am one who appreciates little quirks and ironies in everyday life. Oh, this is going to be an interesting week, my friend." Silence. "Well then, what now?" He began to nod as the other caller began to dictate. "Good. Good. Splendid idea. I will have landed by then, so . . ." he trailed off as the speaker interrupted him, but then picked up where he left off. ". . . so we conclude our business . . . for tonight."

At that moment, the lights in the plane went out so that Seymour could get sleep. The only lights that remained on in the plane were that of the seat belt signs, two flourescent lights in the walls, and the light put off by the cell phone the mayor was currently using. The plane was beginning to level off. From here, the only way forward was forward. There could be no looking back to the past. That was not, and never again would be, an option.

Everything had changed.

"Unbelievable," Seymour said, chuckling. "I am shocked and amazed that you could even conceive such a thing. Then again, I admire those with ambition." He paused. "Your decisions affect that city as well as the DASC. Why would you do that to them?" He laughed again. "Listen to me, lecturing the likes of you on gratitude. Forgive me for being such a hypocrite. Yes, you have a good night's sleep. I'll be busy burying my conscience next to yours." He smiled again, a sly and ulterior smile. "Pardon the joke. Comedy was never my forte. Goodnight."

He took off the headset and rested both it and the phone in the seat in front of him. Bevelle had since long disappeared from sight, and the plane had leveled off and was now cruising through the Stratosphere at 650 miles per hour. The conversation he had just had slowly began to seep into Seymour's mind, where his synapses began to analyze the details of what was discussed. His plans had just taken on a new direction. The ultimate goal would still be attained, but there would be an interesting and very beneficial twist to it all. In retrospect, his old plan was no safer than this new strategy he had decided upon.

He punched the Call button on the ceiling, and one of the aides came rushing to him. "Yes?" he asked.

"Tell the pilots that I wish to make a course correction," Seymour said, beginning to walk back up to his seat in the front of the plane, the aide tagging along at his heels. "Tell them to set the plane down at the alternative destination. We're bypassing Bikanel Island. For now."

"But sir," the aide protested, "we spent weeks going over this plan. If we change it now, your safety might be compromised."

"My safety was never an issue this early in the game," Seymour countered. "Now, are there any other problems with that order?"

In response, the aide walked toward the cockpit to inform the pilots in the change of plans. Seymour smiled to himself as he sat down in his chair and closed his eyes, letting the dull white noise of the jet's engines and the darkness consume him.

The game just grew ever more interesting.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
Time Remaining: 1 hr. 21 min._

Yuna and Rikku were beginning to feel as though the city of Zanarkand had vaporized from around them, leaving only the smouldering stadium and the people inside to fight for warmth and comfort. It was as though they had been marooned on a deserted island, with no other signs of life or hope of rescue. Even though they saw helicopters zoom overhead, all they did was hover and scan with their searchlights. They did nothing to help the trapped people inside the mammoth stadium. Even Rikku was feeling frustrated; surely rescue didn't take this long . . . did it? Were they even going to be rescued? Or was the stadium going to collapse on top of them?

What did Zanarkand know that they didn't?

With the passing of time, adrenaline and frustration were rapidly giving way to fear and panic. Cold was settling into the skin, chilling the bone and dampening the spirit. Smoke filled the nostrils and blinded the eyes, snow was swept into the mix by the wind, which made things even colder. A roaring noise filled the air; it was impossible to determine where the noise was coming from, but it strained the eardrums all the same. A faint crackling could be heard as well, fire burning under the mountain of rubble that had come to rest on the slanted stadium floor. Occasionally, the smoke would be blown just right so that one could see through the gaping hole in the stadium, where a patch of stars, city lights and a lone stadium skylight winked back.

However, this wasn't important.

Amidst a small pile of rubble lay a teenage sports player. Tidus, the invincible, unstoppable, talented rising star and popular teenager that he was could now be seen lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. Most of it, to Yuna, Wakka and Rikku's horror, appeared to be coming from his head, as most of the blood was concentrated around that area. In addition, a piece of metal shrapnel protruded from his shoulder, and a small trickle of blood was flowing from that wound to collect on the ground. His exposed skin was peppered with tiny scabs that had already formed from tiny bits of debris, which were flying so fast at the time of the blast that they impaled the skin.

"Is he breathing?"

"I dunno. I dunno! I'm afraid I'll do something if I move him, ya?"

"We at least need to know if he's alive!"

Yuna turned to her cousin, studying her behavior. She seemed to be losing her cool, but Yuna couldn't blame her under the circumstances. Rikku, in turn, looked over at her, glancing at something on her arm. Yuna followed her gaze, only to see a small gold wristwatch wrapped around her wrist. She had completely forgotten that she had a watch to begin with, but now that she remembered, she was afraid to even glance down and look at it. Did she really want to know how long she had been trapped inside this dying building?

'Where is everybody? Help!'

And then there was Tidus. Yuna shut her eyes tightly and held her breath as she saw Wakka lean over his still figure and lightly touch his index and middle finger to the boy's neck. She was sure that if she looked at her watch now, the second hand would not be moving. Silently she prayed that he was alive, prayed that he may still be able to take her away from the life that she so despised. He was her escape, her relief. She had hoped that he would be able to teach her about what really happened in Zanarkand with its people. Not through words, but actions. That they would get to know each other. Perhaps even become more than friends. However, whenever that thought crossed her mind, she shook her head. Any chance of that seemed impossible.

"Dammit! I can't find it. Hold on, let me try his wrist."

Yuna held her breath as she watched the professional Blitz player shift his weight so he could reach for Tidus's arm. She had to look. Walking forward a couple steps, she bent down to try and get a glimpse of his face. The darkness, however, combined with the fact that most of his face was resting against the concrete step made it unclear as to whether or not his eyes were open. Time was calling; the watch around her wrist seemed to be cutting off the circulation, only to stop which she looked at the time. She couldn't hold back anymore, holding her wrist up to her face and squinted at the tiny watch dial. She could just barely make out the small hand pointing at the twelve and the longer hand pointing at the three. Twelve-fifteen.

Had it really been almost two hours?

Could a person survive that long?

"I've got a pulse! I can feel it, ya! He's breathing!"

Yuna breathed a sigh of relief, almost laughing out loud. "So he's okay?"

"For now, yes," Rikku said, surprisingly calmly despite sounding relieved as well. "He is alive."

"Oh thank Yevon," Yuna said. "I was beginning to think that . . . you know . . ." She didn't catch Wakka looking at her in slight surprise.

The weather chose that moment to grow even colder, and Yuna felt it bite at her skin in a most unpleasant way. Even though she had on many layers to protect her upper body from the cold, all she was wearing to cover her legs were thin a pair of jeans. She had no clue what the temperature was, but she was sure that it had to be in the single digits. Even with two sweatshirts, an overcoat and a pair of jeans, Yuna was still feeling quite chilly. Her cousin had dressed even warmer, sporting a pair of baggy black sweats in addition to her sweatshirts and jeans.

"Should we move him?" Yuna asked.

Rikku put her index finger to her mouth, as she so often did when she was considering something difficult. "My dad told me of the times when he was in Bikanel that he would have to do stuff like this for friends," she said. "I'm trying to think if I can remember . . . yeah, I think I can. He's been hit in the head, so he might have broken his spine. If we move his head too much, then we might paralyze him, you know? That would be bad."

"But if we leave him here, he'll freeze to death, ya?" Wakka argued. "That floor is concrete, and I'm sure it's really cold. He can live through a broken neck. He can't live if he freezes. If someone could hold the head . . . damn it all! Is there something here that we can use that isn't metal to rest him on?"

Yuna began to take off her coat. "Use this," she said, laying it down on a vacant space on the ground. "It should help; it's made with down."

"Use this too," Rikku chimed in, throwing a sweatshirt on the ground too. "You can use that for his legs."

"Okay. Now we need to move him," Wakka said. "And carefully, ya? We don't want to screw up his neck. He won't ever get to play again if that happens."

"Who cares about blitzball?" Yuna snapped, sounding agitated.

"Tidus does," Wakka replied, reaching down to clasp Tidus's legs. "Who wants to hold the head?"

"I'll do it," Yuna said, moving into position.

"Okay, all we have to do is roll him over," Wakka said. "Rikku, be ready to give us a count. But first . . ."

Yuna and Rikku winced heavily as they watched Wakka reach over and wrench the piece of shrapnel out of Tidus's shoulder blade. Blood began to seep through the wound, but they all ignored it. The coat and sweatshirt were lying right next to Tidus. This was much less risky than picking him up and moving him to an entirely different place.

"All right, I'm ready," Wakka said. "Are you?" Yuna nodded. "Okay. Give us the count."

"One . . . two . . . three."

Simultaneously, Wakka and Rikku rolled Tidus's limp form onto the sweatshirt and coat, which Rikku had laid flat next to him. Yuna was very successful in keeping Tidus's head in sync with the rotation of his body. Now, with the blitzball player rolled over, they could see his face which was very pale. Yuna put her hand on his chest and could feel it shallowly rise and fall. The sweatshirt and coat underneath him now protected his bare skin from the freezing cold of the concrete floor. His nose was extremely red, and Yuna gently clasped her hand around it to warm it up.

"We need to at least cover him with something," Yuna said. "For Yevon's sake, he's in shorts! It's a miracle that he doesn't have frostbite. He at least needs a jacket or two, or he still might freeze."

Yuna took this opportunity to shed another one of her sweatshirts. Now down to just one, she gingerly reached over Tidus's legs to drape the garment over them. Very gently, she padded the jacket down so that it would touch his legs and hopefully keep them from freezing. She knelt beside him for a minute before she took off her final sweatshirt as well and draped it over his chest. Now, she felt better knowing that he at least wouldn't freeze to death. Already, however, Yuna was feeling the cold nip at her exposed skin. At that moment, she felt something warm land on her head, and saw Rikku down to her last sweatshirt. Yuna smiled at her gratefully and put it on.

Even so, it was not enough to warm her back up entirely. Yuna suddenly felt another strong gust of wind pick up, and since she had shed half of her protective clothing, she couldn't help but reflexively curl into a ball to preserve whatever body heat she could. However, she had expected the gust to pass by, as it usually did. But this one did not go away. The roaring from the wind that had already been very loud now intensified; Yuna hugged her knees to her chest and covered her ears with her sweatshirt hood to try and reduce the noise. However, the noise and gusts continued to grow louder and stronger, so she looked up to try and locate a possible source.

As she did, a helicopter spotlight turned on, shining very close to where she was standing. The spotlight began to sweep the area, presumably searching for any signs of life. Most of the rest of the survivors of the attack were on the opposite side of the stadium, so what a helicopter was doing on this side was beyond her. Then again, it could be to just survey the damage. But Yuna hoped that wasn't it. She hoped that it was a rescue helicopter, especially since she had expected them over an hour ago. They were now two hours into this ordeal with no sign of rescuers.

No, this was better.

"This is Cid, the Deputy Mayor!" A voice shouted through the night and the wind. "We're here. We haven't forgotten ya down there. Sit tight and stay warm guys, rescue crews are on their way." The spotlight shifted, resting on Rikku, Yuna, Wakka and the covered figure of Tidus. "Rikku! You're all right! And Yuna too! HAH, I knew you would be!"

"Pops! You came! You got my message!" Rikku shouted, bouncing up and down, tears of relief stinging the corners of her eyes. Cid didn't hear her shout, but it didn't matter.

Hope flooded the spirit once again.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand Governor's Mansion.  
00:28.  
Monday, November 25. _

In the TCTC, the mayor of the wounded City of the Far North sat at a huge blacktop desk, which was completely void of any items other than a telephone and his primary computer. Most mayors kept their primary computers in their offices, but Braska, being the head of the DASC, was cautious. It was a security measure that he thought of himself– his office computer was networked to the one he was currently in front of. Should his office computer be remotely accessed by data miners, the hackers would raid his office computer for essential data and find nothing of value, for it was all stored on this secret (and better-protected) computer. The network connection was made untraceable by custom software developed through engineers in the Bikanel branch of the SIA.

Braska drummed his fingers on the table slowly and tentatively as he sat wallowing in the stress threatening to suffocate him more effectively than any pillow could. He had headphones over his ears that blocked out all the surrounding aides who were working the phones. In addition, he had his own call that he was putting through. It was a video phone, and the front wall was connected to the streaming image. The whole wall was a television monitor, measuring ten feet by eight feet. Currently, the image shown was the red status bar showing that his call was 37 percent connected.

He checked his digital wristwatch and saw 12:29 flash mercilessly in his face. Only one hour before the stadium spectators could be rescued. One hour until they would start finding out some answers. One hour until he would know whether or not . . . no, mustn't think like that. Then again, he had entrusted Cid to take up the aerial search for their daughters in his stead. He had so wanted to go with Cid, but instead settled for visiting Yuna between now and when he left for Luca. Matters of diplomacy had to come first. And that included a conversation that had the potential to reassure or awaken new fears and complications.

The call connected, and a man appeared on the huge screen, sitting behind a cheap desk with a small lamp resting on it. The man, in his famous yellow suit, looked both very apprehensive and very exhausted. His dark face etched with worry, he looked a little hopeful when he saw who it was that had called him. The desk lamp flickered slightly, momentarily casting the other man's face in eerie shadows. The man's hands were folded in front of him on the desk, and a small pistol lay next to his hands. It seemed oddly out of place on the desk.

There were four major superpowers in the land of Spira. They were the City of Zanarkand, Bevelle, Luca, and Home. Zanarkand, Luca and Home had wonderful diplomatic ties and relationships with each other. Zanarkand and Home were especially close due to Cid's position in Zanarkand's government and Braska's foreign policy on reaching out to help the unstable city of Home. Bevelle was another story entirely. However, that was immaterial to Braska and Rin's current discussion. It was now that those positive foreign relations would become a necessity.

"Good evening Rin," Braska said pleasantly.

"Morning for the desert," the other man corrected him, smiling. "Remember the three-hour difference?"

"Apologies, I always forget," was what Braska said in response. "It's almost sunrise down there, isn't it?"

"It is indeed," Rin agreed. "Let's get to the point now, shall we? I can no doubt guess why you called. And I wish to convey my sincere condolences and unwavering support for your city. Whatever resources we can scrounge up and whatever assistance we can offer is yours to use at your disposal."

Braska nodded appreciatively. "I thank you for your offer and sympathies, Rin," he said. "But it is I who should be offering you condolences. That's one of the main reasons I decided to contact you ahead of the DASC. Sir . . . one of those missiles hit your blitzball team's bench. It is unlikely that any of the players had left the bench at the time the missile impacted, which gives them minimal chances for survival. We're still waiting for confirmation on that, but I just thought I'd offer you a heads-up and Zanarkand's sympathies as a city and as a people."

Rin did not move for several seconds, but nodded, becoming even more somber than he already appeared. "Indeed," was all he said. "However, there is more to this discussion. As I said before, I wished to pass information to you personally rather than in front of the DASC tomorrow," Braska said. "This is something I wish to have classified from the public until further notice. Otherwise, I'd announce a public debriefing on the situation."

"Already filtering the truth?" Rin stated, leaning back in his chair and smiling half-heartedly. "I can understand, sir. Politicians have to have control over truth and fiction sometimes, especially when the public is as volatile as I think it will be in the days and hours ahead."

"Right now, all my people need are reassurance," Braska said. "If I can keep them calm, then we'll make it. It will be difficult, but we'll make it. The facts will trickle through the system eventually. What I do know for certain is that the decisions I have made since the attack and the ones I will make in the week to come will affect the rest of the world on a massive scale. This attack has and will change history and the way we live. What's up to us is where to go and what to do from here."

"I couldn't agree more," Rin said. "But with all due respect, sir, what is the DASC going to do about the crisis?"

"I've already made a dreadful mistake in declaring Martial Law," Braska replied, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to go against the advice I have received and lift the decree after we clear out the stadium and assess the damage. I just don't feel right about it. A riot is just not something I need right now."

"I sympathize," Rin said, nodding. "But again, what about the DASC?"

"What about them?"

"Well, again with all due respect, sir . . ." Rin paused. Braska knew what he was going to say, but remained silent anyway. "The DASC is not very apt at making quick decisions. I'm sure you're aware of this. Even Wen Kinoc can agree with me on this."

"Oh how I know it," Braska replied. "Nobody is more vehemently critical of the DASC than he. However, I know he's also smart enough to know when to lay aside personal opinion and make sure that all involved parties work together to clean up this mess."

"We will work through it. I'm sure Shelinda will be willing to help out as well."

"I would hope," Braska sighed. "So, that leaves Seymour and the city of Bevelle."

"If there's something you feel I need to know, please just tell me. You may find solace in keeping the citizenry in the dark, but not me."

Braska sighed and scooted his hands further up the table so that he could lean forward and stare intently at Home's mayor. "Are we off the record?"

Rin hesitated for a second before nodding. "All right, we're off the record."

"I had no intentions of keeping you in the dark whatsoever," Braska replied adamantly. "Quite the contrary. But you're right; I mentioned Seymour for a reason. Since the SIA is fairly certain that the attack was racially motivated, and we know of only one notorious anti-Al-Bhed figure that could pull off an attack of this magnitude . . ."

"Are you suggesting that Bevelle has initiated an act of war?" Rin looked deeply surprised.

"I am merely recognizing it as a possibility," Braska said defensively, but evenly. He began to gesticulate. "Look, Rin. This whole affair with Bevelle was just a time bomb waiting to explode. But if indeed it is Seymour, you need to be on heightened alert. The DASC, regardless, will send you CCDP."

"City Civil Defense Personnel?" Rin repeated the acronym dubiously. "We're already using enough of them to hold this city together. Surely we don't need more? We would seem weak in the public eye."

"I strongly recommend you accept the offer," Braska admonished. "Regardless of what the public thinks, you will be protected, and between this terrorist attack and your city constantly on the fringe of economic and social collapse, I think it's a win-win either way. If this was a racial attack, then whoever is responsible will most likely be after an assault on Home next, if in fact the terrorist or terrorists do strike again."

The two men were silent for a time as the information they had traded trickled through their minds. Rin sighed and leaned back in his squeaky rolling chair before reaching underneath his desk for a flask. Braska watched intently as the Al Bhed man took a draw from whatever was in the flask before replacing it where it had come from, hidden from view. Rin sighed and leaned forward once again, picking up a pen and a scrap of paper before jotting something down for a moment. After he was finished, he looked up at the screen again. The whole time, Braska had remained motionless.

"Let me ask you something, Braska," he said slowly. The Mayor of Zanarkand remained silent, signaling for the other man to continue. "Do you think Seymour's really responsible for this crime?"

Braska didn't speak for a few seconds, mentally choosing his words carefully. Then he sighed and leaned back slightly in his chair, opening his mouth to speak before actual words were spoken. "On the record, I'm not going to render judgment on that until I know more. As of this point, anything is possible, so I'll merely say that I am not factually certain. Off the record . . ." He paused, leaning forward again and clasping his hands together.

"I'd bet my life on it."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Mt. Gagazet Airspace.  
00:55.  
Monday, November 25._

A particularly large bout of turbulence was enough to jar a sleeping Auron out of a doze. He woke to see a badge and I.D. card resting on the table attached to his chair. Picking them up, he studied the cards and badge, recognizing the picture on the badge as that of his driving license photo, taken more than six months ago. The badge was gold with a red bar underneath. In the SIA, ranks were classified according to color. Kinoc would be the sole bearer of a gold bar. His deputy, Belgemine, carried the lone silver bar. Then, there were the select few people in the world who bore the red bar, the level right underneath silver. It was factual to say that those with red bars were the most secret and unknown members of the SIA, for Belgemine and Kinoc were often in the news.

'They work quickly,' he thought, pocketing the badge and I.D. card.

Auron suddenly felt the need to stretch his legs. The plane hadn't quite started to descend yet, so he slowly got up from his seat and began to walk down the aisle toward the rear of the plane. It began to bounce up and down again; the air was always most violent over the mountain chain that contained the towering Mt. Gagazet. The plane stilled again as Auron passed the bar, and he began to search its contents for a juice. Miraculously managing to find an orange juice container, he grabbed it and pocketed it as well as he made his way to the restrooms at the back of the plane.

Along the way, Auron was surprised to see another passenger on the plane, but the face was hidden from view, so Auron could not tell who it was. Auron didn't rightly care, either. He entered the tiny bathroom and splashed some water on his face to wake himself up. He looked up, and the reflection of a man trying poorly to hide his troubles stared back at him. He noticed that he really needed a shave when he returned home. His hair was messy and he could see dark purple lines streaked underneath his eyes. His sunglasses were slightly askew on his face, and he straightened them. Sighing and shaking his head, he left the bathroom.

'My life has been shaped by my mistakes. I pray that this will not be the same.'

Auron began his trek back up the aisle to his seat, downing his orange juice as he went. Once again, he passed the figure with the newspaper. As he did, he heard the paper rustle, as though being put away. Auron paid no attention and continued walking. He did, however, pay attention when he heard a click that sounded disturbingly like the cocking of a gun. He whirled around.

There stood a young woman, dressed in black, with silver hair and a pale complexion. He had seen her before, only this time, she was packing a silver nine-millimeter handgun. And it was pointed right at his face.

"How interesting," the girl smiled as Auron raised his hands in surrender. "I guess it's a small world after all."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

_  
SINN Headquarters.  
01:01.  
Monday, November 25. 

Even in the wee hours of the morning, the offices at SINN were still going at full speed. Telephones were constantly ringing, papers littered desks and the floor, and people in wrinkled suits scurried everywhere. TVs of other networks' broadcasts were displayed all over the place as well so that SINN was never kept out of the loop. Despite the fact that SINN was usually the one to hear about everything first, on occasion the network would miss something and rely on its competition for news. Right now, however, there was no competition. Only communication.

Leblanc looked exhausted to the rest of the world as she continued to report the breaking news. "All right, loves, we just got some new information regarding Braska's decree of martial law. After continuing to be advised on the matter, he has decided to lift the decree once the stadium has been completely evacuated and the bodies and survivors have been safely transported to medical facilities. This will come as quite a relief to everybody in this city, as the declaration has, predictably, met with ill effect in Zanarkand. We–" Another report hit her desk.

"Yes, violence has broken out on Yevon Avenue between the recently-deployed CCDP troops and civilians wanting to get close to the stadium to search for friends and loved ones. I think everyone knew that this would happen; it was merely a question of time." She paused, cupping her ear. "Yevon Avenue has now turned into the site of a full-blown riot. I think, now, it's just a matter of the CCDP protecting the people inside the perimeter of the stadium barricade: the rescue personnel, fire department and police force."

As Leblanc was talking, footage of the CCDP battling the throng of people played in the background. The CCDP had shields, billy clubs and pistols brandished at the crowd, while the rioters were fighting back in any way they could. Several had alcoholic drinks. Many of those who tore off their shirts dipped them in the drink and set them on fire, throwing them into the wall of troops. Others threw firebombs into nearby buildings, hoping that the smoke and fire would distract the troops so that they could break forward. Hundreds of snowballs were thrown at the troops, but those had little effect. One man even tried to throw a garbage can, but was quickly subdued and hauled away. Slowly, Yevon Avenue began basking in an orange glow because of all the firebombs, adding to the already huge cloud of smoke billowing in the background.

"Nobody wanted riots to occur, least of all the mayor himself," Leblanc said. "During the conference, it seemed to us here at SINN as if he had his misgivings about declaring martial law. I think now, we can all agree that his misgivings should have resounded more than they did. More people are sure to be hurt, even killed, in this riot in addition to the casualties created by the attack itself. However, we all hope that the news that martial law will be lifted sooner will help stem the riots."

She paused again, shaking off the tiredness. "We're also getting reports of another riot breaking out in front of the courthouse, about two miles down the same avenue. CCDP troops are flooding to the area to protect the courthouse as well as the lawn from destruction. All the while, even more CCDP troops are preparing to repress the flood of panicked survivors who are sure to try and stampede their way out of the stadium. These troops, whom most already agree are in short supply here, are even more thinly spread by the riots. We are nearing ever closer to one-thirty as we pause for another short break. This is Leblanc, loves, reporting to you live from SINN HQ in downtown Zanarkand."

Leblanc tried to keep her eyelids from closing, but it felt as through weights were attached to them. She had been staving off the exhaustion for the last hour, but now it was threatening to overcome her. This time, she stopped fighting her tiredness, feeling sleep call her, beckoning her to the warm and comforting infinity that it offered. Her head drooped, and as she felt it softly make contact with the papers that were right in front of her on the desk, she snapped it up, momentarily wide awake.

"Coffee!" she shouted, downing the last of her cup and waving it in the air.

The producer came forward. "No, Leblanc, you need to get some sleep," he said. "We're going to have someone else take over the anchor for a while. Everything will be okay, okay? Come on."  
"No, love," she said, as forcefully as she could in a tired stupor. "I can't leave now. They need me out there."

"Not if you're falling asleep at the anchor they don't," the producer argued. "Look, you've been reporting nonstop for the last fourteen hours," he said gently, attempting to usher her out of the chair. She didn't move. "Let me put it to you this way then. If you don't get sleep, you're fired." He said it with a smile on his face.

The tired Leblanc managed a grin. "All right then, love, for you I will," she smiled, getting up. "But I want to be back on the air in three hours. Deal?"

"Deal," he said. "Well, four. We'll put you back on at oh-five-hundred."

"Done. Goodnight," she said, passing her replacement anchor and walking slowly toward the lounge area, where she planned to snag a few z's on one of their new leather couches.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Abes Stadium.  
01:32.  
Monday, November 25. _

The wind, thankfully, had completely died down now, leaving Yuna, Wakka, Rikku and the motionless form of Tidus to bask in the soot and snowflakes. Yuna coughed as smoke was whipped into her lungs. They were all warmer now; Cid had been smart enough to drop all of them wool blankets from the helicopter before floating over to the other side to reassure the thousands of people huddled together. It was safe to say that the three people surrounding Tidus, plus the boy himself, were the only beings in the western half of the stadium.

Yuna was mainly concerned with keeping Tidus warm. Although his head injury still caused her great worry, she was even more worried about the possibility of his freezing to death. However, the wool blanket as well as the coats were doing an effective job at preserving what little body heat he had left. His nose wasn't as cold, and neither were his hands and legs. Also, the fact that the wind had finally abated seemed a gift from Yevon himself. Yuna, as well as the others, were certainly thankful for the change for the better, as things had only seemed to be getting worse and worse.

Even though only three minutes had passed since one-thirty came and gone, she began to grow worried that the time of rescue was all just a white lie to provide them all with reassurance. Maybe they had to wait until the sun came up, which would be in another nine hours. Yuna shuddered both at the thought and at the sudden chill that snaked its way up her back. She quickly glanced at her surroundings, which had not changed much in the time since the explosion. Snow was still falling heavily, although this time it was falling much more pleasantly than before when the wind was strong. Smoke still towered from the rubble more than two hundred feet away. In the distance, she could barely make out the huge mass of people on the other side of the stadium. She could certainly hear them, though, even though they had quieted down considerably since Cid came overhead in the helicopter.

As she thought of the helicopter, she looked up and saw a large such object pass very close to where she was, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it was going to head right past them. However, she held out a small shred of hope that it would stop for them. Indeed, she was right. Even though the whirring blades stirred up a fierce wind, chilling her once again, the helicopter nonetheless had its attention focused on them. A spotlight shone down on the four, and for about a minute nothing else happened. Then, she saw a figure jump away from the helicopter and slide down on a rope. He lightly touched ground next to Rikku, Wakka and Yuna before he flashed a thumbs-up to the helicopter.

"I'm CCDP; I'm here to help you," he shouted over the whirr of the blades. "We couldn't get you out by air before because of the wind, but now with the security almost expired and the wind dying down, we're here."

"Oh thank you! Thank you so much!" Rikku said, jumping up and down on her toes, hugging her arms close to her for warmth.

"It's Yuna and Rikku, right?" the uniformed man shouted. They both nodded. "And who are you?" he addressed Wakka, who was kneeling beside his fellow unconscious teammate.

"Wakka, I play for the Abes," he said. "Listen, my friend's in real bad shape, ya? You've gotta help him. Quick!"

The man looked back up at his helicopter and waved his arms frantically. Once he was sure that he had the attention of those inside the chopper, he held up two fingers and then pointed at the ground. Less than a minute later, two more CCDP troops had met them on the ground, and the three began to assess the fallen teenager. When Wakka and Yuna told them who he was, all three men looked shocked and began to work even more hastily. They peeled back the wool blanket and upper garments and took a look at Tidus, noting his wounds.

"I need a med kit down here ASAP!" one of the men shouted into his headset. Seconds later, a large duffel bag slammed into the ground. "All right. We're gonna get you four out of here. But I'm going to need your help, okay?" The three nodded.

"All right, let's get moving."

It seemed like forever and eternity, but Yuna finally found herself in an ambulance, which was barreling as fast as safely possible for Harbor View Regional Hospital. She, Rikku and Wakka had been allowed to ride in the ambulance with Tidus once they had been assessed themselves. Yuna felt regretful that she had not noticed, in her entire course in the stadium, that Rikku had a long cut across her forehead. The medics had said she would need stitches for it, but she was otherwise all right. Yuna had, as Rikku had noticed, a massive gash across her upper left arm, and the medics replaced Rikku's makeshift bandage with a more appropriate, sterile bandage after cleaning the wound with peroxide. Wakka was unhurt, with the exception of mild frostbite on his arms. Yuna and Rikku had favored much better than most others close to the blast, so they were told by the medics.

Tidus, however, was an entirely different story. Yuna, Rikku and Wakka all watched fearfully as the two paramedics riding in the back of the ambulance assessed the teenager. Right away, the medics had both blood and an IV running into Tidus' body. He was still unconscious, even after being airlifted by helicopter and waiting for thirty minutes to get to an ambulance. This, of course, was not counting the three hours he was out in the stadium.

"Will he be all right?" Yuna asked tentatively to a medic who was taking his blood pressure.

"I don't know, miss Yuna," he said. "I hope so, but it's the hospital and the doc who will really be able to tell you. He's young, though, so that's always good." Yuna was about to ask another question when the medic spoke into his mike. "Yes, this is medic 2480 inbound to HVRH. Uh, nineteen-year-old male explosion victim with a severe concussion, serious hypothermia and possible spinal damage. Trauma system entry. Body temperature 93.2. ETA approximately 12 minutes. Oh-one-fifty-six."

"Is he going to make it?" Yuna asked, pleading for a definite answer. "Tell me he's going to be all right."

"My lady, my job is to keep him alive until we get to the hospital. Like I said, they're the ones who will do the assessment. I just can't say at this point."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Harbor View Regional Hospital.  
02:29.  
Monday, November 25. _

Even in the comfort of the hospital waiting room, where she had been given a warm blanket and a cup of coffee, where she was protected from the elements, and where she was surrounded by people who cared for her, time seemed to move no faster than it had when she was in the stadium. Yuna supposed this was because waiting was waiting, no matter what it was for. In the stadium, it was waiting for rescue and word from the outside world. Now, it was waiting to see whether or not a boy she cared deeply for would still be alive by the time the sun rose. Despite understanding the reasons for her grave worry and concern, she could still not explain why they resounded so prominently in her mind. Occasionally, she would also beat herself up for seeming so selfish, wishing him well only so he could help her. When she voiced this to Rikku, however, her cousin had scolded her for having these thoughts. It was one of the things Yuna loved dearly about Rikku; she was always able to remain positive.

Upon their arrival to the Emergency Room, Tidus had instantly been whisked away for tests that included X-rays and a CAT scan to diagnose his condition. That had been fifteen minutes ago, and Yuna had received word from a passing nurse that those tests would only take twenty minutes at maximum. However, the hospital, despite being one of the largest and most efficient in the world, was certain to be swamped. There were tens of thousands of people in the stadium at the time of the blast. And though most were able to escape the stadium unharmed due to its sheer size, thousands more were expected to come in with serious injuries. Or in body bags.

Tidus, perhaps partly because of his fame and reputation and partly because the scope of his injuries was classified as quite severe, was first in line for tests at the hospital. The hospital had three hours to prepare for the influx of patients, and were more than ready to implement its protocols for Mass Casualty Incidents. Harbor View was a level one facility, meaning they had the best means of coping with severely injured patients. It was one of three level one facilities in Zanarkand, and all three were bracing to receive hundreds, maybe even thousands of patients from the stadium. The hospital was already bustling to the point where it was packed; Yuna, Rikku and Cid were lucky to have gotten seats in the waiting room.

Yuna had finally been able to see her dad. Braska stopped in for about twenty minutes before having to leave for Luca to meet with the DASC. Now, she sat on the left side of Rikku, who had her father on her other side. Cid was going to say with the three throughout the time they were in the hospital. He had offered that Braska be the one to stay and Cid would chair the DASC in his place, but Braska had legitimately argued that, as of this point, sending a fill-in would be inconvenient and only hinder the response process. Cid had reluctantly concurred, and now here he was, waiting with the two girls for word on Tidus.

The TV in the waiting room was tuned in to SINN, and many were fixated intently to the screen. "Hello. This is Roger Stillwater, filling in for Leblanc in this hour. We're back with some hot-of-the-press top stories. This time, we're in for a bit of a reprieve with some good news. Braska is off to Luca to convene with the DASC to formulate a response and defense plan to these attacks and the potential of more to follow. However, before he left, he gave a statement saying that his declaration of martial law would expire by twenty-hundred tonight, November twenty-fifth. He gave no reason for this abrupt timetable except for that he said, quote, 'I fear that martial law will only add to an already monumental problem if I don't lift the decree as soon as possible.' We speculate that this will be time enough for rescue personnel to evacuate and assess most of the people who were in the stadium as well as abate the riots that have recently sprung up.

"In a related story, it is believed that the relative figure of thirty thousand people inside the stadium at the time of the attack was grossly underestimated by on-the-scene personnel. A spokesperson for the ZPD said that the figure may even be close to double this number. While it is believed that the vast majority of these people remain uninjured due to their distance from the blast site, Zanarkand's hospitals are bracing for an influx of patients and bodies, where the combined total could number in the thousands.

"Also, in a surprising showing of unity and community, citizens in the city of Bevelle were the first to the streets this morning to mourn those who lost their lives in this horrific incident. As many as three thousand people, all carrying candles, slowly walked the sidewalks in downtown Bevelle to express their heartfelt sympathies for the city of Zanarkand."

The reporter paused as another briefing appeared on his desk. He looked at it, and all those watching him could see his eyes visibly widen. "Uh, we- we now have new information from the SIA. Director Wen Kinoc has issued a brief statement where he is quoted as saying that, 'It is with near-irrefutable certainty that the SIA finds the attacks to be racially provoked. Who is responsible is still unknown, but all leads are pointing to an attack motivated by prejudice and hatred against the general Al Bhed population.' At this time, it is also worth noting that no surviving Al Bhed Psyches players have been found yet." He paused again. "We're going to go to a commercial break, during which time we will gather more information on this breaking development."

A small murmur of surprise escaped the viewers in the waiting room, all whispering amongst themselves as SINN paused. Rikku and Cid were clasping their hands together tightly, eyes closed and heads bowed. Yuna got off the chair and kneeled on the floor in front of the two, resting her hands on top of theirs and bowing her head as well. They sat there for at least a minute in total silence reflecting on the impact that the attacks would now have on them as a people. They would look to each other for comfort and answers now. Perhaps it was true that there was unity in the wake of a catastrophe. Rikku was tittering slightly in her seat. She had remembered something. Something nobody else knew.

She mouthed the name to herself. Seymour. She could still hear his words:

My whole campaign was based on doing something about your race. The 'heathen problem,' as I referred to it. You see, the Holy Word of Yevon stipulates that heretics do not have the right to inhabit this land. It is too great for them. They deserve lesser. Both the people of this city and myself cannot just stand by and watch you enjoy, inhabit, and consume a world undeserved.

"Pardon me, is this the waiting party for Tidus?" a voice interrupted them. All three looked up to see a nurse looking down at them.

"How is he? Is he okay?" Yuna asked hesitantly as she got up off her knee, bracing herself for the worst.

"Yes, he is okay. The fact that he was young and very strong was the only thing that kept him alive," the nurse said. "And yes, he will live. We are expecting a full recovery as well."

Both Yuna and Rikku sat down, faces awash with relief. "Oh thank Yevon," Yuna said.

"That's the good news, I'm afraid," the nurse interjected. Once again, apprehension settled into Yuna's emotions. "He's still in serious condition. While he did not suffer any spinal damage, the CAT scan revealed that he has a skull fracture in addition to a subdurral hematoma. What that is," the nurse continued when she saw the worried and confused looks on their faces, "is that sometimes, during head trauma, blood will collect between the skull and the brain, causing pressure to build up from the blood pushing the brain against the skull. The procedure is a simple fix, however, and we expect that to proceed without any problems. In addition, he had hypothermia, so we're treating that with warm fluids and warm bedding, and his temperature has started to rise. However, we don't know what his condition will be when he wakes up." Rikku, Cid and Yuna still looked uneasy, so the nurse smiled and said, "But not to worry, he should wake up soon."

During the course of the nurse's digression into Tidus's symptoms, a man had come to stand next to her, listening intently to what she was saying. The nurse either did not notice or did not care, as she continued to speak despite his presence. He was a man of average height, with salt and pepper hair, an unshaven face and an unusual red trench coat. Despite it being night outside, the man wore sunglasses as well. He had his arms folded and had been wordlessly listening. Yuna and Rikku were confused by this man's presence. They had never seen him before, but he apparently knew who the nurse was talking about. Even when she had left, the man continued to stand there before turning to them and finally speaking up.

"Yuna, I presume," was what he said. It wasn't a question. His tone was one of sagacity and reserve, a man whose still waters ran very deep indeed. The low voice added to his gruff physical appearance. "And Cid. An honor." He extended his hand to the man, who shook it, seeming bewildered. "I'm Auron, Tidus's guardian."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.2 ~~~~~**

__  
HVRH, room 417.  
05:23.  
Monday, November 25. _

Tidus barely even noticed that his eyelids had twitched until they were open only slightly, just enough to let in a sliver of excessively bright flourescent light. He knew that he was awake; his mind was just barely able to tell himself that. He was so warm. But still, he felt oh so heavy, oh so sleepy, as if he was being pulled into the depths of a void from which he could not escape. His lids opened just a little more, letting more light into his cerulean eyes. He cast them to his arm, where he saw a tube protruding from one of his larger veins, a clear liquid flowing through it and into his arm. Groaning very softly, he made to tear the tube out of his body, but found himself too weak to even move his other arm. Slowly, his mind decided that it was okay to leave it in . . . for now.

Sleepiness was threatening to overcome him again. Something told him that he had been drugged as well, and he opened his eyes even more. They focused, and he could see that he was in a hospital bed, surrounded by a curtain. A bed tray to his right was empty. On his other side, he could see a beeping machine. He had seen those in movies– they kept track of heartbeat and pulse. Even in his stupor, the beeping was growing annoying, so he shifted the position of his head so that one ear was pressed to the pillow and the noise was muffled. Just moving his head nearly took all of his energy.

Just as he was ready to fall back asleep again without a second thought, the curtain pulled back and a doctor entered with a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake, Mister Tidus. You gave your visitors and me quite a scare there. How are you feeling? Do you hurt anywhere?"

Tidus tried several times to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, he managed, "Visitors?"

"Come again? I couldn't hear you," the doctor replied kindly, leaning forward so that he could hear Tidus better.

"I had visitors?" Oh, so much energy. He was starting to get dizzy.

"Well, you had four at one point, but one left and the other two are in a private area catching some sleep. There's still somebody here, though. In fact, he's been here since you came to this room. Never left, even to eat or sleep, despite saying he just flew in from Bevelle. You've been out for quite some time."

He?

"Well, I'll leave you to get some more rest, and I'll get some more pain medicine for you while I'm at it. How does that sound?" Tidus didn't reply, nor did the doctor expect him to. "All right then, you get some rest now."

The doctor turned around and left, but Tidus was not alone for very long. Almost the instant the doctor disappeared from his scope of vision, another man entered the room and sat down next to him. Even drugged and sleepy, Tidus felt a surge of emotion well up inside him. All of a sudden, he began to heave as tears escaped his eyes and frustration, confusion, agony and resentment flowed out with them. The man simply leaned forward and clasped his gloved hands on the bed where Tidus could see them. He watched Tidus with concern; the teenager could see it all over his face, even through his watery eyes and the man's stubble and sunglasses.

Auron studied him. It was such a change from the way Tidus normally behaved. The man always knew that Tidus buried his torment and hurt underneath a very well formed shield of confidence. He was popular and talented, and blessed with very good looks. In here, however, in this bed and in this room, it was a different story. None of that mattered. Auron was sure that Tidus knew, deep down inside, that he had almost lost everything. That even the invincible were mortal. There was no popular Tidus, no superstar Tidus. Not here. Here lay a kid who was forced to see and remember that which he only wanted to forget. Auron knew that here, in this hospital room, Tidus would become a changed man.

"Jecht wouldn't approve of you hurting yourself like this . . ." he commented.

"What . . . what are you doing here, Auron?" Tidus managed to say after several minutes.

"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago," Auron replied softly. "I'm not leaving this place until I'm sure that you're going to walk out of here."

"What happened to me?" Tidus asked weakly. "Why are you here? What's going on?"

"All questions that can be answered later, when you're more alert," Auron said. "For now, all that matters is that you rest and regain your strength."

"I . . . I almost died, didn't I?" Tidus asked. "Tell me, Auron. Fucking A, tell me straight for once."

Auron hesitated, the corner of his mouth turning up at hearing that Tidus had found his prior tongue. "You did. And the fault for that rests with me."

"What? How?" Tidus whispered.

Once again, Auron took his time in answering. I wasn't here when you were hurt. Your father entrusted me with keeping you safe, and I didn't." Tidus was silent as he listened to his guardian. "You never believed it, but I've said this before and I'll say it again. Your father . . . he did care for you. Enough to entrust your care to me. He shouldn't have. But that's because of me, not you. And I apologize. Perhaps you'll forgive me in the future, after I've accomplished my mission."

Mission. Tidus didn't like that word. He repeated it. "Mission? What mission?" he asked.

"I'm returning to the SIA, Tidus," Auron said quietly. "For a time, anyway."

Tidus wanted to sit up, wanted to fight, wanted to shout as loud as he could, but he found that he did not have the energy to do any of them. Auron had to quickly reach to support Tidus's weight before he collapsed back onto the bed. He closed his eyes as Auron guided his head back onto the pillow. The fact that he was too weak even to tell the old man how angry he was at him was almost too much to bear. He tried to roll onto his side, to face away from his guardian, but couldn't for lack of energy. Eyes open once again, he just stared vacantly at the ceiling, as if he were indeed the corpse he had almost become.

"You mustn't strain yourself. You'll only hurt yourself even more," Auron quietly admonished.

"Since when the fuck did you care enough to know when I'm hurt?" Tidus tried to yell, but it came out as a rasp instead. "I hate you."

The older man nodded. "I know. And sometimes, I think you should."

"You make this so fucking hard," Tidus muttered. "I don't even know who you are. But even though we never even fucking talk, I know you've said you hated the SIA. So why are you going back?"

Auron bowed his head, but continued. "I don't like it any more than you do, you must believe that. In fact, I like it less than I ever did before. But I'm your guardian, Tidus. And I can find out who did this to you through them."

Tidus was slowly shaking his head as Auron spoke. "No, you can't," he whispered. "You don't even know . . . You don't . . . you can't . . ."

Tidus could no longer speak. He could no longer move. He couldn't even be angry or confused anymore. It just took even more energy. But hopelessness . . . he could still feel that. It was an emotion he hadn't recognized for quite some time. There was nothing he could do to stop Auron from telling him what he already knew, and what he didn't want to even consider.

"Before you can forgive Jecht or me for anything we have done to you, you must forgive yourself for not being like him," Auron remarked, almost in a whisper. "You tried so hard to mimic him, but couldn't. And you thought the fault lay with you for that. Jecht made you believe that it was your fault. But he was wrong, Tidus. It was he who expected too much of you too soon. None of what he said, or what you believe, is your fault. It is his. And mine. And once you understand that . . . perhaps you can forgive us. And yourself."

Despite being physically exhausted and nearly delusional due to the medication, he was still capable of coherent thought. Forgive himself? For what? His father had always told him that he was a weakling, told him that he would never be as good as he was, whether it was at blitzball or with the ladies. There was nothing to forgive. In public, Tidus was Tidus. But at home, he was just as insecure and uncertain of himself as anyone else, maybe even more so than others.

"I can't," he said. "My old man was right. I'm weak. This is bullshit. Why the fuck am I like this?"

Auron softly gripped Tidus's arm, something he had never done before. "Look within yourself for the answers to your conflicts. The solutions are there," he said. Suddenly, he was interrupted by his cell phone ringing, startling them both. "Auron speaking. I'm here at Harbor View looking after a friend's son." He paused. Suddenly, his voice became very sharp and loud. "What?" he asked incredulously. "Right. I'll be right there." He shut the phone and looked at Tidus again. "I must go, but I will return," he said, hurriedly exiting the room before Tidus could respond.

It didn't really matter in the first place, for he was already asleep. He began to dream.

_ Look within yourself for the answers to your conflicts. I assure you, they are there . . ._

**ZFC 2.2**_  
_

A minute later, as Auron passed the waiting room, he paused to watch a news bulletin that was breaking on SINN.

Leblanc was back, and was looking just as shocked as she did when she first reported on the attacks. "Seymour, the mayor of Bevelle, has just submitted a video broadcast over the Internet, saying that he was the mastermind behind the attacks on Abes Stadium tonight. The SIA has already verified its authenticity. The statement also goes on to state the purpose of the attack and that he has resigned as mayor of Bevelle. What follows is the closing summary of his recording, which lasted fourteen minutes. Listen, loves."

The image of Leblanc was replaced by a low-quality image of Seymour, standing in front of a podium in what looked like a cave. He was dressed in a military uniform, one of a CCDP trooper. Two armed bodyguards flanked the man on either side as he read off a piece of paper on the podium, evidently a speech he had prepared ahead of time. The mayor sounded very official as he read, and the words he spoke would chill anyone with any semblance of compassion.

"The attack in Zanarkand marks the beginning of what promises to be a long and difficult crusade against the heathens," he said, reading deliberately from his paper. "However, the message has nevertheless been sent to the Al Bhed and the rest of the Spiran community. I have left my former position in the great city of Bevelle to pursue a higher calling, where I will personally lead the charge against those who wish to rid the world of Yevon's teachings and his divine spirituality. Those who understand know that Yevon granted us with everything we have today– the air we breathe, the crops we harvest, the water we drink. However, it is the way of the Al Bhed to disregard this extraordinary gift and lead a life of machinism and hedonistic selfishness that threatens to consume the Spiran population like a lethal disease. This heresy cannot be left unpunished. Therefore, through tonight's attack, I have sent a clear message to the intercity community that unless the Al Bhed are willing to embrace the kindness of Yevon, they will instead be forced to embrace his wrath. This is an imbalance of ideology so severe that it can no longer be ignored. War has been declared against Bikanel Island and all those who harbor anyone of that bloodline.

"Make no mistake, citizens of Spira. As long as the Al Bhed walk among you, none of you are safe." Seymour was then seen exiting the room, and the video ended.

Somebody in the waiting room incredulously remarked, "He just declared war on Spira!"

Auron, however, had already left the room and sped away from the hospital. Zanarkand's future was the least of his concern.

The crisis just escalated beyond the point of imagination.

* * *

Haha. Hopefuly you weren't expecting that last bit. If you were, I screwed up.

Before I go, I want to tell you something about chapter 10. There will be a nine-day time jump from the end of this chapter to the beginning of number 10, where I will pick the story up on the evening of the fourth of December. This is necessary for me to proceed with the plot of the story, as so many other things follow in the wake of a terrorist attack. I don't want to run through the whole process, and focus only on that which is important to the story's plot. So, once again, chapter ten will start on the evening of December fourth.

There you have it. Now for some other reminders: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

That's it for me. Next we talk, I'll be toting chapter 10 not far behind. Take it easy, all.

SirGecko


	10. Dissolution

Hey, everyone. It's good to see you all again. I didn't think I'd be updating this quickly, but that's okay. The sooner, the better I say. I want to finish this thing. But don't worry, I still have a ways to go. As you may or may not have seen from my profile, I am now pretty sure that this story is going to be 17 chapters long instead of the 16 I had originally thought it would be. This is because of some chapter length problems I ran into; they were getting too long. So I had to do some event shifting to come up with an extra chapter. But that's beside the point.

Let's talk about chapter 10 now. It's a bit shorter than the last two, just under 19 pages long. But that's just fine with me. The following characters appear in this chapter: Braska (plus the DASC), Auron, Kinoc, Paine, Rikku and Lulu. Lulu's back.

The chapter summary is going to follow the disclaimer and warning this time, for a reason that I will explain below here. But first, let's get those two things out of the way right now, shall we?

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

**In addition, this chapter in particular is rated for strong language and violence during a rape scene. **This leads me to the chapter summary. The first two-thirds of it is pretty normal. The chapter takes on the form of a news bulletin, with segments branching off the discussed topics. First, you'll get an inside glimpse at a DASC emergency meeting. Auron finds out where he is going in his one-man mission to find Seymour. Lulu negotiates the deal of a lifetime, but with something extra that she is uncertain about.

Now, for the last part. Poor Rikku makes a huge mistake in trusting a bartender that Auron knows . . . I did this scene with as much tact and respectability as possible. So, please don't flame me for being insensitive; I apologize if the writing seemed that way, but I assure you that it wasn't for lack of trying. If you're uncomfortable reading such a scene, you're more than welcome to skip it; use your own judgment. But like I said, I made a conscious effort to be as respectful as possible. Thank you.

Alright, I'm taking a risk here by posting this. But I'm going to roll the dice and take my chances. Tell me what comes up by reading this chapter. Enjoy.

**

* * *

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**Chapter 10: Dissolution

* * *

**

"Good evening loves, this is Leblanc, here with the headlines making news in Zanarkand and around the globe."

_ "Bevelle is under intense pressure from the rest of the Spiran community to allow an independent investigation by the DASC into Seymour's three-year governorship of the city. The doors to the Conference Hall of the DASC HQ have closed and the council's deliberations are expected to take up to several hours. The future plan of action rests on the council's ability to persuade Mayor Tromell to go through with this investigation into the Seymour regime. The debate itself took place earlier this week. Tromell's take on the idea is uncertain, and his feelings for or against the Al Bhed are even more uncertain, for he has been extremely withdrawn regarding both issues. This is, in fact, the fundamental topic up for discussion tonight. In addition, the DASC plans to decide and finalize the Al Bhed role for offense and defense in this intercity crisis . . ."_

__  
Luca, DASC HQ.  
07:00.  
Wednesday, December 4._

"We, the Diplomatic Alliance of Spiran Cities, at the hour of oh-seven-hundred on this fifth day of December, hereby call this emergency session to order." Braska lowered the gavel swiftly. _Crack._ "Let those who wish to speak be heard."

The conference hall they were using was the size of a large house. The very large circular table at which the representatives sat was, by itself, 20 feet in diameter. Carpeted in a traditional gray often found in office buildings, the conference hall was uncharacteristically plain for a place of such importance. The original designer of the building had wanted to incorporate some element of each city's culture into the room. However, the designer realized that with the possibility of new cities being added, as well as the extreme difficulty in designing the room, he would just make it completely neutral.

He addressed the other seven sitting at the table, banging the gavel down once again. They were dressed in their finest, unsmiling and respectful in the presence of the most powerful man in the world. As the chairman of the DASC, Braska had one half of the table entirely to himself so that he could see the other seven members properly. Each person had a glass of water, a microphone, a nameplate and his or her city's flag resting in front of them. The room was very dim, and light was instead provided through the desk lamps that were next to each representative.

On the far left sat Barthello, representative of the island cities of Kilika and Besaid. He was the only person to represent two cities, and was seen as the question-asker of the group. Next to him, the representative of Djose, Nooj, sat professionally, glancing at other members that he could see. Nooj was the most neutral on issues, and his voting pattern as such was very sporadic. On the far right, Jyscal, the representative of Guadosalam, smoothed his tie absentmindedly, looking apprehensive. Jyscal had been on the council for the longest, more than 40 years, and his veteran counsel was greatly valued by the other members. To his left was Baralai, the DASC representative of Macalania. His shocking white hair hid his right eye so that only his piercing left one was visible, a trait he was famous for. He was the most blunt and fiery personality on the council.

The other three representatives comprised the Superpowers of Spira, and along with Braska, were referred in DASC meetings as the SS4. Directly across from Braska, Rin had an expressionless face as he sat, making a point of avoiding Tromell's gaze. Tromell, the acting Mayor and representative of Bevelle, who sat to Rin's left, looked slightly uncomfortable. He was undoubtedly aware that the other council members were very wary and untrusting of him. On Rin's right, Luca's representative sat smiling softly as she glanced at Braska and the rest of the members. Shelinda, the only female representative on the DASC, appeared to be the only one who didn't feel the tension in the room. Then again, Shelinda was also known for being the most warm and positive person on the DASC.

Because there were eight people on the DASC, there was a need for a tiebreaking vote. Therefore, the council elected Braska to have two votes, one as the mayor of Zanarkand and the other as the head of the DASC. Surprisingly, none of the other cities had a problem with this, probably due to Braska's sheer respectability as a politician and as a person. He was very easy to trust.

The gavel came down for the second time, the sound of shuffling papers could be heard in the room. Each representative had compiled his or her own report on the agenda, which had been passed out beforehand. Often, however, not all reports were heard, which was just fine with everybody on the council. The reports were submitted to all others anyway so that they could be read at a later time. It was just 'better' if a member's thoughts were brought up at the council so that everyone could offer their input. Soon, each member's report lay in front of them. It was time.

"All right, let's begin. First, we have the issue of the Al Bhed's role in the response to attacks on their people to discuss," Braska said, reading from his notes. "I have my own list of suggestions, but before I read them off, I'd like to open the floor to possible suggestions."

"As the representative of Home, I would like to be the first to present my thoughts on the matter," Rin piped up, speaking clearly into his microphone. "My city is already suffering enough under economic recession to play any major role in this affair. However, we wish to be seen neither as victims nor as the bearers of authoritarian law. My personal thoughts are that if our economy were stronger, we might be in a better position to defend ourselves."

"What does your economy have to do with your prospects of being attacked again?" Barthello piped up. "I don't understand." Barthello was sometimes also seen as the dimmest of the council members, but Braska thought of him as the one who kept them honest. Sometimes simple questions were the best questions.

"My theory is that by boosting the economy, we pave the way to have more resources available for defense," Rin stated. "As if my people don't enough to worry about, just struggling to make ends meet . . ."

"It's not our responsibility to ensure your economy's stability, it's yours," Baralai argued, his sharp voice cutting into the conversation like a hatchet. "The issue is whether or not we send you in to kick ass or we send you troops to cover your ass."

Rin was about to respond, but Shelinda beat him to it. "I think," she piped up, her high-pitched voice barely resounding over those of the men, "that it would be best if Home did not fight at all. That would only further Seymour's cause, which is to prove that the Al Bhed are out to conform all of us into heathens. We all know that this isn't the case . . ."

Here, Braska looked to Tromell for a reaction, but he remained motionless.

"I agree," Nooj said, nodding. "In order to achieve victory on an ideological level, which to Seymour is what this is all about, we mustn't provide any reason whatsoever for him to say that he is right."

"Wait a minute. This is about more than who's right and who's wrong," Baralai argued. "A do-nothing policy on the part of the Al Bhed doesn't really say much for their ability to fend for themselves."

"Yes, but as you pointed out, we're already having trouble fending for ourselves," Rin retorted, starting to lose his patience.

Braska banged the gavel down to prevent a shouting match. "Gentlemen, please," he admonished evenly. "Rin, we'll deal with funding issues later. For now, let's just decide your role in the DASC's response. I concur with Shelinda's thought. Does anyone else have anything else to add? If not, I would like to bring this discussion to a close so we can vote."

Jyscal spoke up. "I may have ties to the Guado through blood, but just because that is the case doesn't mean I can't be objective. I personally condemn his actions and opinions," he said quietly. "And I will vote to provide support in whatever way is decided upon by the Council here tonight."

"Thank you. And now, will the Al Bhed representative give his vote for or against the point in question." Braska waited for Rin's answer.

"I agree with the proposal," Rin said after a few seconds. Baralai was shaking his head.

"Now, will the rest of the council cast their votes," Braska said. "All in favor of Al Bhed neutrality raise a hand." All hands rose except for those of Baralai and Tromell. "Those against please raise a hand." Baralai's hand rose. Tromell's did not. "All right, enter a vote of seven to one in favor of neutrality."

Despite being voted down, Baralai did not seem overly displeased with his fellow constituents' vote. He nodded and began writing down notes. Braska was jotting down notes as well, listening to the whispers of the other members of the DASC. He looked up and noticed that Tromell still hadn't spoken a word. This worried him, not to mention the fact that Tromell did not vote at all. And now it was time to bring up the issue that most centered around that very person.

The future would be decided now.

"Next on the agenda is the issue of an investigation into the actions of former Mayor Seymour during his three-year tenancy," Braska read. "During the last meeting, we exempted Tromell from voting on recommending this investigation at his request for more time to consider the matter. The rest of the council voted unanimously to proceed with the investigation, and we now bring the vote to Tromell. Have you made your decision on whether or not you approve or challenge?"

Tromell spoke, barely above a whisper. "Yes, he said. "Yes, I have," he repeated a little louder, clearing his throat and leaning forward.

Any member of the SS4 could challenge a ruling if he so desired. To challenge a vote meant to nullify the council's decision, forcing a revote after a new debate. If they voted for the ruling a second time, it could not be challenged. The same would occur if two non-SS4 members were to challenge. A challenge to a vote had only happened once since Braska became the head of the DASC, and that was over Luca's desire to lift all bans on marijuana within its territory. Having approved the ruling five to four, Guadosalam challenged. The second time, the DASC ruled against it six to three, and having already been challenged, Luca could not bring it up again.

However, the current issue was monumental in comparison.

"I am embattled in making a decision of any kind," Tromell began slowly, "over whether I should be loyal to my city or to the other cities of Spira. This is difficult when I realize that most of the time, the other cities couldn't care less about anything Bevelle or its government did until it scared them."

Despite the fact that Braska's facial expression remained totally neutral, he was beginning to worry. This wasn't looking good.

"Before Seymour went into hiding, as Deputy Mayor, I was his closest confidant and advisor," Tromell continued. "He neglected to tell me where he was going, of that I assure you. But I believed him. I believed that what he said was true, and that Bevelle was the most progressive and most sage of the cities." He was sure good at taking his sweet time.

"Now that my relationship with Seymour has no doubt been permanently severed, I am forced to draw my own conclusions without his input. I am forced to lead a city whose loyalty is split down the middle, it seems, between Yevon and peace. My city is almost worse off than Home, for home at least is not engaged in Civil War." Rin snorted softly, nodding. Whether it was genuine or sarcastic, only he knew. "And then I ask myself how my city became so divided. To me, the answer is quite clear."

At this point, Braska was almost positive that Tromell was going to blame the Al Bhed and deny the investigation. A challenge would be declared, and even though the council would no doubt rule in favor of it again, the rift between Home and Bevelle would only widen. As a man who believed in unity and community as the best way of working through problems, Braska did not want to see that happen.

But life was full of surprises.

"As much as I may not think highly of the Al Bhed, I do believe that it is Seymour, and not Rin's people, who has divided my people so greatly," Tromell continued. "Through this ardent preaching of Al Bhed cleansing, the citizens of Bevelle have been divided into two groups- those who believe in Yevon and those who believe in Seymour. And my own beliefs in Yevon tell me that there should be no difference.

"So, it is with the hope that my people can be united once again that I, as the acting representative of Bevelle, vote in favor of a full independent investigation by the DASC."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.3 ~~~~~**

_"Sill, there are those who are more concerned about what happens when Seymour is indeed found and captured. There has been much speculation about where and how Seymour will face justice, but there will certainly be a high-octane trial to be had. Finding an attorney to represent the former mayor is proving quite difficult. However, finding one that will prosecute him will probably take little time at all . . ."_

__  
Zanarkand, 7867 Huckleberry Park Drive_._  
15:55.  
Thursday, December 5. _

The crackling of the large stone fireplace across the room was the only sound in Lulu's living room where she sat at her desk, poring over paperwork. The sun had gone down almost two hours ago, and she preferred the natural light of the fire over her fluorescent desk lamp. The light flickered and danced across the papers she was skimming over. They were official court documents and transcripts, witness accounts, and descriptions of evidence in her case against Raymond Fresner. Lulu, almost two weeks later, would still obsessively come back and search for the missing link between Fresner and the murder of that man back on the 21st of November. So far, the only possibility she had come up with was that there was a copycat out there.

But she refused to believe that.

At this point, she had all but given up searching for this link. In all actuality, it didn't really matter anymore. The media had no doubt forgotten their whole story of doubting her credibility. Certainly there were more important things for SINN to focus on other than her. Lulu did not mind. Yes, Lulu did feel very sorry and sympathetic to those who lost their lives in the attack, but she could do no more than offer her sympathies. Other than that, she thought, what was the point in brooding over that which she couldn't control? She was in charge of herself and her affairs, and that alone. Lulu did not bother wasting her time grieving or worrying when she had her own matters to attend to.

Lulu began searching for a reason to give up and put this report down (she had gone over it dozens of times already), and found it in a very unexpected way. Someone knocked at her door. Puzzled, she got up from her desk and made her way to the door. When she opened it, she was floored to see the Mayor of Zanarkand himself standing on her doorstep, looking pleasantly back at her in his suit and heavy jacket.

"M-Mayor Braska." Lulu stuttered. She did not like surprises, and this was most certainly a surprise. However, she hid her discomfort well and opened the door wider. "I wasn't expecting you here. I thought- I thought I was to meet you at the Mansion in two hours."

Braska heeded Lulu's invitation and stepped into the living room. "I'm getting tired of that place and I thought a change of scenery for me would be nice," he said, smiling as he looked around at Lulu's home. "You do have a very nice place."

Braska was indeed right in saying so. Though Lulu would have disagreed in a heartbeat, she kept it nearly spotless. The tabletops were free of dust, there were no glasses lying about, and the room was free of her cat's hair (she had to make sure of this, as she was ironically allergic to cats). Magazines that she kept on the small end-table next to her couch were even aligned by the spine so that they didn't appear disorganized. The hearth above the fire held two cinnamon candles, the fragrance gently gracing the nostrils. It was very homey and had a tranquil ambience about it.

However, what concerned Lulu even more than the way the house looked was the way she looked. Although she wore a fairly new pair of dark blue jeans and a nice olive-green spaghetti strap top, those clothes were very casual indeed, and not what one would choose to wear in front of the most powerful man in the world. In addition, she was barefoot and her hair was in a disheveled mess, as she had haphazardly put it in a ponytail so that it reached down to the small of her back. And she hated doing that.

"I can go change if you'll just excuse me a moment," she said, pointing her thumb toward the back of her house.

"Don't bother," Braska said kindly. "I am a guest in your house, and you're welcome to wear whatever you choose. In fact, you look quite lovely, if I may say so."

Lulu's face tinged pink. "Thank you," she said.

"Do you mind if I sit?" the Mayor asked, gesturing toward the large couch.

Lulu nodded, and he sat. "Would you like a drink? I have whiskey, red wine, beer, water . . ." she listed off the drinks that she thought would cater to his tastes.

"No, I'm fine, but thank you," he said, smiling again. "So, I understand you wanted to talk to me about something regarding the attacks?"

"I do," Lulu responded. Now that she was talking the job, she had found her cool once again and sat diagonally from Braska on the other couch, crossing her right leg over her left. "I would like to be the prosecutor in Seymour's trial."

Braska's eyebrows visibly rose, and he leaned back against the soft, plush couch. "You certainly don't beat around the bush, do you?" he said.

"I'm too tired to sugarcoat it," Lulu admitted. "Besides, I lawyer enough people in court."

Braska chuckled animatedly. He was in an unusually good mood. "This is true," he said. "Well, I have no doubt that you would be a prime choice for the job. From what I've heard, your skills in a courtroom are unmatched and impeccable."

"That's what they say," she replied casually. "And it's true. I'm more than capable of convicting that man."

"Wouldn't you agree, though, that his crimes have already condemned him to death? I don't mean this critically, but I don't think anyone needs your talent to prove his guilt."

"Certainly not, but this trial is the biggest one to reach a courtroom in the last two hundred years, and the people will ultimately feel better knowing that he will die at the hands of the law," Lulu immediately replied. "Through the trial, I will detail his crimes in a way the public can identify with. That's the difference between a case and a landmark case. When it comes right down to it, Mister Mayor, it all depends on how it's presented."

Braska was nodding slowly as she made her argument. "I can't really disagree with that," he said slowly. "As I said, you are certainly a prime candidate for the job, and I'll take it under advisement. In fact, you'll know sometime today. I'll make that my top priority. It will be good for the people to know that we are confident enough in finding this terrorist that we are already planning his trial."

Lulu grinned. "That's the way I'd look at it," she said. Braska stood up from the couch, and she rose with him. "Off so soon?"

"Yes, I must get back to my office if you want an answer by the end of the day," he replied. "Apologies once again for arriving unannounced. I should have called ahead."

Lulu shook her head. "Not a problem."

His warm smile returned. "All right, then. You have a pleasant evening." He turned and left without another word.

The conversation went much better than Lulu could have expected. She leaned against the door after she had closed it behind the head of the DASC. Though the meeting was short, it was productive. Now she just had to endure the tense wait that would last until she received word on Braska's decision. Sometime today . . . that could be anytime in the next seven hours. However, Lulu was used to waiting for indefinite periods of time. It was always that way when a jury went to deliberate one of her cases. This was nothing new to her.

She decided that a quick shower was in order. They helped her think as well as relax and unwind. Striding to the bathroom, she turned the water on and shed her clothing. By that time, steam had already begun to rise from inside the shower stall, and she stepped in, letting the nearly-scalding water trickle over her skin. She could fall asleep like this; it was almost euphoric. Her shampoo smelled of peppermint, and the whole room became filled with the fragrance of mint as she kneaded the shampoo into her hair. After that, she just closed her eyes and let the water splash against her face for a good five minutes. She imagined any tension she felt being washed away with the dirt on her skin.

As soon as the shower fully relaxed her, she turned the water off and stepped out, toweling herself off. Just as she finished, however, she could faintly hear her cordless phone ringing through the closed door and the monotonous hum of the wall heater she had turned on.

"Never fails," Lulu muttered, wrapping the large coffee-colored bath towel around herself and jogging to answer the phone. "Yes?" she said into the receiver.

"This is Kinoc, SIA Director," said the caller. "You have the job."

Lulu was floored. Not only had the response come back much, much sooner than she had anticipated, but it had been Wen Kinoc who told her about it. Despite the fact that she liked all these important people calling her personally, it slightly unnerved her as well. It showed that they were even more no-nonsense than she was. The fact that they had contacted her or met her directly was indeed a projection of power that was very intimidating. However, it was nice to see these people so determined. Especially Kinoc. These were the good guys, after all.

"Thank- thank you," Lulu said. "I didn't think **you'd** be calling me, sir. Can I ask why?"

Kinoc did not answer her question right away. "Braska ran the idea by me when he arrived back at the Mansion," he explained. "I requested that he personally brief me on all elements regarding Seymour, and this most certainly was one of those elements. However, I agree with his opinion of you, and think you'll do a fine job of convicting this man of his crimes."

"Thank you," Lulu repeated. "But–"

"The reason I called you is that I have a favor to ask of you," he cut her off. "Unlike Braska, I've seen you in a courtroom. I've seen you virtually convict a man by ad-libbing. I need that ability with Seymour. When he is captured, you're going to be the one to interrogate him for information. Outside the courtroom."

Lulu froze. Prisoner interrogation. She had heard a rumor that there were people who worked for the SIA that were specially trained in prisoner interrogation. They were called 'inquisitors.' However, she did not know whether or not this was indeed true. By the sounds of Kinoc's request, it didn't appear to be. But Lulu had no idea that she would be asked to question Seymour besides in court. Where she was familiar with the way things worked. Prisoner interrogation was a whole different ball game.

"Sir, I don't think I can," Lulu replied. "I'm sure you're aware that, by me questioning him, that violates the DASC Codes for Prisoner Treatment and Due Process?" Kinoc said nothing, so Lulu decided to simplify it. "It's against the law, sir."

"Not anymore, it isn't," Kinoc replied shortly. "I **am** the law. And by the time we find this man, that rule you just spoke of will no longer be an issue. So, what'll it be?"

"Honestly, sir, I don't know if I'm comfortable with that," Lulu admitted slowly. "For legal reasons, that is."

"I assure you, you needn't worry about the legal ramifications of this," Kinoc repeated. "I give you my personal word.

"Oh, well . . . as long as I'm not held accountable, I'll do it," Lulu agreed hesitantly.

Kinoc's tone lightened. In fact, he began to laugh. "It's all right, miss," he said. "I'll take personal responsibility for anything that goes awry. Good night."

Lulu hung up the phone slowly. She felt as though she had plunged deeper into this whole mess than she ever wanted. Unlike ordinary criminals, terrorists on an international level were not exempt from torture. And Lulu knew, that by being an 'inquisitor,' she would more than likely have to torture the information out of Seymour. She would still ask him the questions that she would ask him in her courtroom, but this time there was no article of silence. There was no adjourning. As an inquisitor, she only adjourned when he either confessed or died.

Her mind could not handle torture, even for a man like Seymour. She would come to realize that during his interrogation. But for now . . .

_'As long as I'm not held accountable.'_

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.3 ~~~~~**

_"Despite Tromell ruling in favor of an investigation, there is still no word on the location of Seymour himself. The SIA has held several meetings over the last week to try and sift through any leads they may have, but those leads have turned out to be even shorter than the meetings in which they were discussed. This comes after the SIA came under fire for reportedly misplacing 687 million gil in approved intelligence aid to the Al Bhed, which has already amounted to more than five billion gil. Kinoc, known for his cutthroat efficiency and no-nonsense approach to politics, has said that his agency is doing the best it can to track down the former Mayor. However, I think we can all agree that doing that is proving to be much harder than anyone could have imagined . . ."_

__  
Blitz Bar and Grill.  
19:49.  
Wednesday, December 4._

"Order three is up!"

Auron groaned inwardly and walked out from the back room to deliver the meal. The greasy smell of chicken strips and cheesy steak fries wafted under his nose, and indeed, everywhere else. He picked up the basket and emerged from the kitchen to the dining area, where over a dozen customers talked quietly or shot pool on the new table. The atmosphere in the bar, which was normally rowdy and loud, was still nearly as reserved as it had been since the attacks. In fact, that was all people seemed to talk about, even ten days later. Of course, it was understandable, despite the dramatic and rapid shift of attention from Zanarkand to Bevelle in the eyes of the media. Despite this, whatever the media said or did not say about Zanarkand, those who lived in the city could not, and would never, forget the attack.

The waiter and SIA agent delivered the meal to the man it was for. A quick thank-you and a curt nod later and Auron had returned to his usual post behind the bar. He was working with Tony again tonight. When they worked together, they would always almost run into confrontation over who would be at the bar and who would be behind the grill. Auron, 99 times out of 100, won the argument. There really was no advantage to Auron manning the bar over the grill, other than the fact that he just liked it better. It was best not to disagree with Auron when his mind was made up, and Tony was no exception.

At Auron's request, Kinoc had arranged for him to continue working at the bar. When Kinoc asked why, Auron had simply responded that he wanted to keep some small measure of his pre-SIA life intact. He was fickle that way, and it was best for others not to read into it too much. Therefore, the SIA director had agreed, on the condition that Auron could be called to government work at the drop of a hat. Since Auron knew this was the case whether or not he remained employed at the bar, he saw no problem with this. He assumed also that Kinoc had taken care of things with his boss. It would be awkward and unprofessional for him not to show up for his shift, especially when he was famous for his attention to schedules.

Auron was flagged by a customer who asked him to mix her a screwdriver. As he wordlessly nodded and turned around to mix the drink, he could hear an outburst of uproarious laughter, something he had not heard in the bar for almost two weeks. It was a nice sound to hear after so long, and it went well with the drone of the TV, the hiss of the grill, the cracking of the pool balls and the murmurs of other customers. Pouring in the necessary amount of orange juice to make the screwdriver, he mixed it and passed it to the customer. She quickly glanced at Auron and then at the drink, and then turned back to converse with the person next to her without a thank-you. Auron was used to such behavior. He didn't care as long as they tipped.

He walked the length of the bar to see if anybody else would call on him to mix another drink. Nobody did, however, so Auron walked back to the middle of the bar and began washing the beer and shot glasses that had accumulated there over the past hour. As he worked, scrubbing the glass with an old and tattered washcloth, he was able to catch snippets of the customers' conversations. All were related to the attack.

"What if we're attacked again? Oh, I wonder where we'd be hit next time . . ."

"Fuck if anyone knows, dude. All I know is that if Seymour ever came along here, I'd tear his fucking head off and shit down his throat. It's because of that cocksucker that the whole fucking world's gone to shit. Those motherfuckers in power couldn't shit enough brains to add two plus two. Bevelle's gone back to the Dark Ages, Bikanel's screwed by Seymour and money problems, Zanarkand's paranoid and Luca's just skipping along. Dude, all it comes down to is that we're fucked."

"Yeah, man. Who knows who's gonna die next?"

"Who gives a fuck? I just wanna know when the goddamn blitzball final will be."

"Is that all you think about? Sports?"

" . . . Yeah. And chicks. Can't forget chicks."

Tony would like this guy.

Then there were more serious conversations.

"You know, my cousin lost two friends that night. They were sitting right under the Top Box when it fell on them. The cops couldn't even find their bodies."

"They couldn't find much of anything, I heard. They had to rely on ticket sale records to determine the number of dead that night."

"How many is it now? How many dead?"

"Over six hundred. Six-hundred-fifty-something, I think."

"Shit."

"Did you know anyone in the stadium?"

"Naw, naw. Nobody. But I know lots of people who knew people. Something like this affects all of us, no matter what others say."

"You got that right. But we'll get over it. I know it's hard, but Braska's a good guy. He'll get us out of this. Plus the fact that his own daughter and niece were in the stadium too. He's got a personal motive. With him as Mayor, we'll be fine. I know it."

"Unless he takes the response too far . . ."

"Braska? Never. He's a good clean politician. It's nice to have a few of those once in awhile."

Auron finished cleaning the glasses and placed them all on the dish rack to dry. As time passed and he paused to mix a drink or two, he found his thoughts wandering again. Things weren't adding up. He was sure that Kinoc had something to do with this attack, but now it seemed as if he was wrong. The evidence certainly stacked up against Seymour. The SIA hadn't made any headway in figuring out where he was, but that wasn't for lack of trying. Kinoc was certainly sacrificing his sleep and the sleep of his staff to work any possible leads regarding Seymour; it almost seemed like Kinoc's personal obsession. Auron was even starting to believe that Kinoc was actually being truthful.

But then he remembered the file.

To his horror, he realized that the independent investigation would probably involve confiscating Seymour's personal computer. The computer where the file was stored. He had no way of knowing what the contents of that file were without the use of that computer; he had personally destroyed the CD that held it. Auron knew that it would be only a matter of days before the DASC would have that computer confiscated and ransacked for information. However, with the defenses on that file probably coming from the SIA, there was little chance of them finding the file unless somebody knew what to look for. And the only such somebody in Spira was Auron.

That investigation would begin in a matter of days. He had to get there before the DASC did, otherwise his link would be lost.

"Yo, Shady! Pick up the phone!" Tony's shout could be heard from behind the grill. There was a black phone mounted right above the sink, and Auron crossed to it and picked up the receiver.

"This is Auron," he said.

"Are you ready to go?" Kinoc asked.

The question was asked as if Kinoc were expecting Auron to be ready for something, but this was evidently not so. "Excuse me?" Auron repeated.

"You're going on a mission," Kinoc said curtly.

Auron sighed resignedly. He had known for a while that this was coming, but had hoped it wouldn't. "Where?" he asked quietly, turning his head away from the customers so that there was less noise.

Auron sincerely hoped that his boss would say Bevelle. It seemed the logical place to begin, as Seymour's beginnings as a politician were in that city. In addition, Bevelle had a very reclusive government, preferring to keep important matters outside the listening ears of the intercity community. If any answers could be found regarding the crisis, Auron was sure they could be found in Bevelle. But more than that, Auron was hoping to go there so that he could infiltrate the Mayor Tower for a second time and rehack the computer.

However, he was in for a surprise.

"Home," Kinoc replied. "If Seymour's planning an attack on the island, he's sure to have people there right now. I want you to see what you can turn up."

If there was once place on the entire face of the planet that Auron did not want to go, it was to that . . . place. His last memories of Home were not pleasant ones, not by any means. Of course, Home and the majority of Bikanel Island was generally a depressing place, but there was more to it than that for Auron. His trip to Bikanel Island had been his last mission before he left the Agency three years ago. The mission where his life took a very unpleasant turn, and the mission when he began to question what his motives were for living. It questioned whom he could trust, and whether or not he could trust again. Auron would certainly rather forget that place. Then again, there were a lot of things that Auron wanted to forget.

"I hope that's your idea of a good joke," Auron said, despite knowing that any attempt to work his way out of it was futile.

"I apologize for sending you back there so soon, but you're my secret weapon. You can pull things out of your ass faster than a magician, and I need you to do it again for me this time."

"What am I looking for?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Kinoc replied. The pause on Auron's end of the phone indicated that the gruff man was quickly growing irritated. "Look, Auron. The media and the public are getting nervous that I'm not able to turn up any leads regarding Seymour's whereabouts. I must have released at least five statements to the media that all say 'I'm trying' in one form or another, but they don't listen or care. So I need something solid, and that's where you come in.

"Kinoc, I don't–"

"I know I usually come to you with a lead and ask you to follow up on it, but this time, you need to generate the lead. You have as long as it takes."

"So, you want me to wander the streets of Home in the hopes that I somehow come across information about where the most wanted man in the world is hiding?" Auron asked cuttingly. "Once again, you fail to make any sense."

"That's because you haven't let me finish," Kinoc said patiently. "We do have something of interest. It's small, but a place for you to start nonetheless. An unusual area of Home has come under what appears to be increased security detail. We can't really tell through satellite imaging, but there's a lot more people just standing on either side of doors than is normal. We can't tell, but they don't appear to be CCDP. My guess–"

"Hope," Auron corrected him.

"Whatever," Kinoc sighed. "Fine. My **hope** is that they're part of a security detail, and whatever is going down inside those doors has something to do with Seymour."

"What buildings are they guarding?" Auron asked.

"That's the other strange thing," Kinoc remarked. "But I'll brief you on the plane. I don't want to take the chance in case this line is tapped."

Just great.

"Be at the airport by twenty-one-thirty tonight," Kinoc ordered. "Your flight leaves an hour after that, and your further arrangements will be discussed on the plane when you're provided with a secure phone line." There was a click as the man hung up.

Over the course of the next ten minutes, Auron had convinced Tony to work both the bar and the grill until the manager could come to fill in for him ("What the fuck Shady! I'm workin' here!"). Now, his corvette strolled the plowed streets back to his small apartment, for which he had paid a year's worth of rent. The check Kinoc had promised for his last mission in Bevelle was indeed laying on the kitchen counter when he got home from the hospital. Most of the 15 thousand gil had gone to the rent, but what little was left went straight into his bank account so that it could accumulate interest. Auron was wise when it came to spending money.

For the last few days, the skies surrounding Zanarkand had been clear, and what little daylight they had came with bright sunshine and a clear, crisp blue sky. It was still quite cold, but the sunlight made for a nice change from the constant snowstorms. The clear skies were expected to last at least for the next few days as well. Now that it was dark, the stars were out, but only the brightest stars winked back at Auron as he drove the outskirts of downtown. In addition, the moon was nearly full tonight. If it weren't for that as well as the light pollution, Auron would find this sky much more captivating than it already was.

Once at the apartment, he stayed just long enough to pack his suitcase and take a quick shower to get rid of the smell of stale cooking grease and cigarette smoke. Tidus, who had been released from the hospital two days ago, wasn't home. However, he still had not fully recovered from his ordeal in the stadium and in the hospital. He was far quieter than usual and was holed up in his room a lot more often. And by himself. Usually, the only time he ever barricaded himself in his room is when he had a girl with him.

Auron thought nothing of it as he effortlessly hauled his suitcase downstairs and scrawled a quick note to Tidus explaining what was going on. As he quickly looked at the calendar to guess a date for his return, he noticed something scrawled in Friday's block. Auron was typically the one who wrote things on the calendar, but this time he saw Tidus's bold handwriting instead. He smiled as he read it, and added another sentence to his note and took out his wallet, leaving a tattered bill for 100 gil next to the note. Then, he grabbed his overcoat and strode swiftly through the living room and out the door of his apartment.

For the second time in two weeks, he sped off for Zanarkand International Airport.

'Jecht, my old friend, it will be good to see you again.'

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.3 ~~~~~**

_ "Despite the recentness of the attack, Zanarkand seems to slowly be on its way to recovery. People are getting over their fears now to the point where they're willing to start to pick up some of their old habits and lifestyles again. Downtown businesses are seeing more people come in every day, which is a relief to store owners who were worried that the attack might scare people so badly that they wouldn't come and shop. Even the Al Bhed population is defying Seymour's promises and venturing out amongst their fellow citizens . . ."_

__  
Blitz Bar and Grill.  
22:28.  
Thursday, December 5. _

It had been yet another long day for Rikku as she walked into the Blitz Bar and Grill, recommended to her by Wakka. Surprisingly, he had kept in touch with her after the attack, and had even suggested once that they get together over lunch. Rikku had yet to decide whether or not she wanted to take him up on that, especially with someone like Wakka, who seemed to dislike everybody of her race except for her. She didn't let that one fly. If he was going to like her, he would have to like her people as well. There were no exceptions. Even so, it would be a lie if she said she wasn't at all interested in him. He had, after all, willingly helped her and Yuna through the time in the stadium. But interest was all. It wasn't even a crush. She simply wanted to get a better idea of who he was like as a person.

It was always crowded at the Blitz Bar and Grill at this time of night. And even more so since it was a Friday. She had trouble safely meandering between the waitresses, the customers playing pool, and the tables as she slowly worked her way to the bar (in Zanarkand, the legal drinking age was 16, while you couldn't drive until you were 18). Miraculously, there was an empty seat, and she took it. Flagging down the bartender, a young man in a grease-stained white T-shirt with a handsome face, she asked for a beer. It took barely thirty seconds before she was greeted by a small glass of the amber liquid.

"Thanks," she sighed, taking the glass and starting to chug it.

"Now **that's** a girl who can drink," the bartender said, chuckling as he saw her take care of the drink with ease. "That one's on me, okay?"

'Wow, how nice of him,' she thought. "Thank you," she smiled. "I think I'll have another one too."

"Alrighty," the bartender said good-naturedly before bringing her another glass. "What's your name, cutie?"

Normally, Rikku would have laid out anyone who called her that, but he said it so well. Like he meant it. "Rikku." She said it surprisingly shyly as she took her second beer much slower than her first. "What about you?"

"Tony," he said. "Hey Matt, I'm gonna take thirty! Cover me!"

"What!" came a shout from the back. "C'mon man, I'm working here!"

"Ignore him, he's a whiner," Tony muttered, getting a giggle from Rikku as she continued to drink her beer. "Man, you can really drink! You might even be able to beat me!"

"Oh, I don't know, I may, I may not," the girl replied. "Although tonight, I'm feeling a bit adventurous. Wanna test me?" She was already feeling slightly weird. That was odd. This was just beer . . .

Tony flashed a grin. Nice smile too. "You're on!" he said, running for two shot glasses.

She finished. "Isn't it illegal for you to get drunk while you work?" Rikku asked when he returned with the glasses and a bottle full of clear liquid.

He downed two shots right off the bat. "I don't plan on getting drunk," he said, nudging her with his elbow and smirking. "There, I drank two. We're even now. You drink vodka?"

As he and Rikku were getting ever more immersed in their drinking contest, the seat next to Rikku became free and was quickly occupied by another young woman with a pale face and silver hair. For the longest time, she just sat there, watching the news on the small dusty TV mounted over the bar. Somebody eventually brought her a drink, a black velvet. She sipped it quietly, ignoring the two people to her right who were growing increasingly loud the more they drank. The contents of the glasses slowly diminished as time passed.

"I think I'm beating him!" Rikku giggled, tapping on the girl's shoulder.

The woman turned around, but her expression of disgust quickly turned to one of puzzlement. The drunken girl next to her appeared very familiar. At the very least, her face was. She had seen her somewhere before. However, the girl's face had turned away from her own and was now facing her drinking partner as they shared another round, laughing hysterically about something. If it was a contest, the girl was certainly losing. The guy didn't even seem fazed. However, she didn't think much of it, as she had seen this sort of thing at plenty of other bars. Instead, she turned the other way to watch some men play pool.

"Hey, I think you've had enough," Tony remarked some minutes later, putting his hand on Rikku's as she reached for the bottle again. "You're going to pass out."

"I'm just . . ." Rikku said, her words long and strung out. "Getting started," she replied, giggling with her hand over her mouth.

Tony looked at his watch and scowled, but then smiled at Rikku. "No, that's enough," he said gently. "Come on. I want to show you something." He went around the bar to where Rikku was sitting and helped her off before leading her back into the kitchen. The pale-faced woman failed to notice.

Then she remembered.

The airport. The collision. The girl with no sunglasses.

She turned around, only to find that the barstool was empty. The girl's drinking partner was also gone. She looked up and saw a head of blonde hair faintly disappear into the kitchen. Slowly, a gruesome scenario began to play through her mind like a movie. Something was wrong here . . .

Rikku was led out through the kitchen and out the back door, into the alley that ran parallel to Jefferson Drive. They stopped right on the corner of the alley and the cross-street next to the bar; neither were used all that often. It had warmed up recently into the high teens at night which, for people accustomed to single-digit weather for so long, felt almost balmy. Therefore, neither were cold in just their shirts and jeans. Of course, in Rikku's case, the alcohol helped as well.

"So pretty," she said, sounding dazed. "Whatcha showin' me?"

"Just me, baby," Tony replied casually, pulling her close to him. "Just me."

He softly began sliding his hands over Rikku's bare arms before kissing her softly. Rikku returned the kiss, and Tony smiled against her mouth, petting his tongue against her lower lip. She moaned as his tongue entered her mouth and began to dance. Tony was wonderful at this. She didn't care that she hardly knew him, or that the surrounding environment seemed a bit odd for that sort of thing.

His hands began to reverse direction and started moving south so that he lightly ran them over Rikku's breasts. At this bold move, however, Rikku pulled away and turned her head. She seemed slightly more alert now.

"Don't," she muttered. "I don't like this."

"I'm not hurting you," Tony said gently, reaching for her again, but she drew further away. "What's wrong?"

"I really . . . shouldn't be here . . ." Rikku whispered, now sounding fearful as she began to fit the puzzle pieces together. "I'm going now, okay?"

Tony moved to block the door. "Whoa, now, there's no hurry," he said, trying to coax her as he would a cat. "Come on. Be nice to good old Tony. He only wants to be nice to you."

"No, let me through!" she shouted, punching him in the gut to try and get him to move. He grunted, but then quickly recovered. He backhanded her across the face, sending her sprawling to the ground of the grimy alley.

"Don't you _ever_ hit me like that!" He roared, advancing on her. "Fucking bitch. You'll pay for that one."

Rikku had begun backing away even before that. On her hands and knees, she scuttled away from him as fast as she could. But then, she ran up against a wall, and before she could dart away, Tony had grabbed her and pulled her up so that she stood against the wall. She tried to wiggle free of his firm grasp, and even though she was quite strong for a girl of her size, he held her by the wrists with ease. She opened her mouth and started to scream, but he slapped her again, harder this time. It quieted her.

"_Shut the fuck up!_" he hissed in her ear. "You **will** like this. And me. Got it?"

All Rikku could do was nod at that point; she was too afraid to try to escape again. She was effectively trapped. A small line of red blood began to inch its way down her chin, but that was the least of her concerns. Even through the alcohol, she knew that she was about to get raped. Violently.

It was now apparent that Tony did not care how much pain he caused her. He removed his hands from her wrists and roughly grabbed her breasts. His grip, far from gentle, felt as though he were attempting to squeeze all the water out of a sponge. It hurt so badly, and she couldn't help but reflexively cry out. He silenced her with another slap, giving her a bloody nose in addition to her split lip. He began to knead them roughly and painfully, so that Rikku was forced to bite her split lip in order to stop herself from screaming.

In one quick movement he had literally torn open her jeans and thrust them downward along with her underwear. She whimpered softly, fear and humiliation welling up inside her at the fact that her most private area was exposed to this evil man. In a last-ditch attempt at defense, she clamped her hands over herself, but Tony shoved them away effortlessly. She felt him thrust his fingers in her. She winced violently at this feeling, but it didn't go away. Time stopped, and it seemed as if this horrible sensation would last forever. Then, as if by small miracle, the feeling was gone, and she heaved a huge inward sigh of relief.

But it was short-lived. There was nothing she could do to protect herself from what she knew was coming next. She shut her eyes tightly and could hear the sound of his buckle clatter as he dropped his own pants to the ground. There was no way she could go through this with her eyes open, watching and expecting what would come.

However, some part of her wanted her eyes to open, which they did. They glanced down at Tony, and saw that it was rather large. Rikku was quite petite, and she knew that one that big would hurt even if he was being gentle. But when she looked back up at his face and saw only maliciousness and hatred, she was reminded of the fact that he would not pay any attention to whether he was careful or not. He would tear her insides apart. It would be the most painful experience of her life. And he didn't care. Didn't care at all. She waited for the searing pain to shoot through her like electricity. A tear trickled down her cheek to mix with the blood. This was it.

"Oh please . . ." she begged. "Please . . ."

Tony smirked. "You know you want it, don't you? Bitch. You want it to–"

"Please just kill me," she whispered her face pleading amidst the tears and blood. "End it . . . now."

"What the fuck did you say?"

"Just kill me! Anything not to go through this. Anything!"

He did not respond verbally, but instead roughly and quickly penetrated her. This time, she did not care how much noise she made; the pain was indescribable. She screamed, subconsciously expecting Tony to hit her again. He didn't, and instead pounded into her even harder. Now she was fully aware that there were worse things than being hit in the face. This was much, much worse. The unspeakable dastardliness of what he was doing to her didn't register in her mind at the time. She just juggled the pain with the thought of wanting it to end.

'Somebody, somebody please kill me.'

"Get the fuck away from her, right now. Nice and slow."

Both started and looked in the direction of the voice. Rikku immediately recognized her as the girl she had seen in the airport, the one who had essentially saved her life by giving her the money to buy sunglasses. She was dressed almost identically now as she was then. Rikku didn't dare to breathe, for she saw this woman had a shiny pistol extended in front of her. And judging by what the woman had said, it was not Rikku. Then she remembered something else from that awful day.

_ I think we'll be meeting again someday._

"Lady, this isn't your business," Tony said cautiously, addressing the woman with the gun. "We're doing just fine here."

"Is that so? Then you're telling me the blood on her face is yours?" she snapped. "Think you have a lot of balls, molesting girls in dark alleyways between shifts? Sounds like you've got two to lose. Now get away from her. This is your last warning."

Tony hesitated, but then finally complied, pulling up his pants and moving a good ten feet along the wall away from the trembling girl. He stood there, watching as the woman signaled to his victim to get behind her. First Rikku pulled up her own garments and then quickly ran behind the woman, so that she was between Tony and her. There was complete silence for a time of about twenty seconds, except for Rikku who was trying her hardest to hold back sobs.

"It's Paine," she said to Rikku, keeping her eyes on Tony as she talked. "You asked me my name, remember?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned her attention back to Tony. "I want you to close your eyes and count to ten, loudly and slowly. By the time you're finished, you won't ever see us again. Am I clear?" she instructed. He didn't move, and instead was staring furiously at her. "Listen, you fuck. You have about one second to start counting." She raised the gun from being level with his crotch to his head. Tony nodded.

"ONE . . . TWO . . . THREE . . ."

Rikku instinctively began to run as fast as she could away from Tony, expecting Paine to follow her. However, she had only gotten about ten steps away when she stopped, surprised not to hear Paine following her. She turned around and watched as Tony counted out the numbers four, five, six and seven. During that time, Paine slowly walked toward him as he counted, pistol still raised. And it was only then, too late as well, that Rikku realized what she planned to do.

"EIGHT . . . NINE . . ."

The instant Tony opened his mouth to utter the last number, Paine had shoved her pistol in his mouth, barrel pointed up, and fired. The din of the resounding blast was not what caused Rikku to shriek, rather, it was the explosion that came out of the back of Tony's head. Even by the din of the streetlight, she could see blood and brains spatter against the alley wall, making a sound equal to water droplets hitting the floor when wrung out of a washcloth. Tony's body slowly slumped to the ground, and as it did, the light was cast just right so that Rikku could see that the entire back of his head was missing. Blown away. It was so quiet now; she could hear the blood dripping to the ground.

Only 15 seconds had passed since he started counting.

However, what was even more scary was Paine's voice. How calm it sounded.

"How fitting . . ." she turned to Rikku. "Let's go."

Rikku could not find her ability to speak for quite some time. "What?" she finally uttered. "What do you mean, go?"

"I mean just what I said," Paine said coldly, who pointed her pistol at a horrified Rikku. "Go. Go either with me, or with Tony to the Farplane. Take your pick."

Rikku, of course, knew what her choice was. Even so, she couldn't help wondering which evil she would have preferred. She had been wishing for death before . . . and in a way, she still wished for it. At the same time, Paine had ended one trauma and begun another by killing Tony. No, executing Tony. So now, the poor girl was torn between rape and possible death. Which was 'better'?

The scary thing was that she didn't know.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.3 ~~~~~**

_"That's it for us tonight. Thank you all for tuning in, loves. This is Leblanc, saying goodnight from SINN headquarters in downtown Zanarkand." _

* * *

Alright. That's it then. What do you think?

A reminder, as usual: Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Don't forget to review! Feedback of all sorts is greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

Well, I'm gone again. I'll talk to you all once I have chapter 11 ready for you to read. Take care of yourselves until then.

SirGecko


	11. Second Guessing

Hey, everybody. It's good to see you all again.

Anyway, this chapter has a lot of references to people and events mentioned in previous chapters, so be on the lookout for that. I also think this chapter is one of the better ones I've written. It's quite dark and maybe a bit philosophical.

A big thank-you to those who reviewed chapter ten as well. I'm glad you took it easy on me for that chapter, since I wasn't really sure about it. Writing that type of stuff was new territory for me, so thank you all once again. Also, a big thank-you to l'oiseaujoli for being my beta reader. Thanks a million!

Alright, here we go with the short chapter summary for Second Guessing. The following characters are in this chapter: Auron, Lulu, Kinoc, Rikku and Paine (and even Jecht). They appear in that order as well. In this chapter, Auron goes on a wild and dangerous mission in the treacherous city of Home that causes old feelings and memories to resurface. Rikku and Paine share some dialogue, delving a bit into Rikku's character and Paine's attitude toward her.

Alright, here we go, once again, with all that legal and liability bullshit.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

**This chapter is rated M for strong language and violence.**

Good enough? Alright guys, have fun with chapter 11.

* * *

**Chapter 11: Second Guessing**

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* * *

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__  
Home, Little Nook Motel.  
21:43.  
Thursday, December 5. _

The sight of peeling paint and the sound of rattling gunfire greeted Auron's eyes and ears as he woke. His dilapidated room quickly came into focus as his weary eyelids opened, blinking several times to shake off the tiredness. He looked at his watch (which never left his wrist, even while he slept), figuring he must have been out for about three hours. The room in which he stayed smelled musty and looked as though its care had been abandoned long ago. In addition, the smell of stale cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils, and he coughed. The place was barely tolerable just to sleep in. But the bed and sheets were clean, and that's all Auron needed.

The walls of Auron's seedy motel room were bathed in a soft red-orange light, the sun rapidly descending behind the horizon of Home's many skyscrapers. Auron was not yet used to the amount of daylight in Bikanel, where it was still light out for more than twelve hours a day. Slowly purging himself of his grogginess, he got out of bed and made his way to the window in the hopes of getting some fresh air. When he opened the window, however, the air that wafted in was dry and hot, leading him to quickly close the window again. That was another thing Auron was not yet used to– the heat. Even now, late into the evening, the temperature still had to be in the eighties.

He had been waiting for night to fall. As that time was almost upon him, he began to set about his small, dingy room, gathering the few belongings he would need for a night out in the hazardous city of Home. It was too warm to wear his trench coat; he wanted also to blend in better with the rest of the citizens. So, he left his heavy coat where it lay draped across a small rickety table, and instead donned a black muscle shirt and a pair of comfortable black jeans. Next were his boots and gloves. Lastly was his most important item: the silver-framed sunglasses. He snugly fit them over the lower part of his nose and picked up his pack, which contained all of his sneaking essentials. Among them were rappel line, rope, night-vision goggles, a knife, lock picks, binoculars and smoke grenades. Finally, he turned to his final item, the item which had been causing him some conflict.

A dull black Beretta 92 pistol lay on the bedside table, a full magazine and a suppressor resting next to it. His SIA contact, who had met him at New Bhed International Airport, had given him the pistol in addition to other communications equipment he would need while on his mission. Ever since Jecht had passed away in this very city, Auron had a pronounced dislike of any firearm. On the other hand, one would be a fool to wander the alleys of Home without being armed. One would be an even bigger fool to do what Auron might have to without being armed as well. As much as Auron may have not liked the Beretta, he knew that Kinoc and the contact were right.

Sighing, he picked up the holster off the bed and strapped it to his waist. He picked up the magazine and the Beretta, fixing the silencer to the gun's end and inserting the magazine, hearing a (satisfying) click.

_ "JECHT!"_

The last and most crucial piece of equipment that Auron would have was still resting innocently on the table as well. He picked up the tiny little adhesive tracking dot and placed it behind his left ear. Gripping it gently, he gave it a twist to activate it. Though the device was not in his ear, he could hear a faint beep, indicating that it was transmitting its signal all the way back to the SIA HQ in Zanarkand, where Kinoc would be personally overseeing his progress. This in itself would have struck Auron as odd; normally Kinoc did not have any involvement whatsoever in the progress of a mission. Then again, since this was the mission to determine the whereabouts of the most wanted terrorist in two hundred years, it made a little sense.

Auron stood in the middle of the room, checking his watch again. It was nearly ten p.m. Slowly, he walked forward and gripped the cold and rusty doorknob. He looked back behind him. A plane roared overhead, causing the room to shake. Could he still go back? Was there still a way out of doing this? **Had** he made a mistake coming back to the Spiran Intelligence Agency? Because outside of this seedy, dilapidated and musty motel room, Auron was a more vulnerable man then he ever wanted to be. As if in another attempt at persuading him to cut and run, gunfire again pierced what was once tense silence.

_ Ratatatatatatatatat._

This was it. The Event Horizon.

_ "Take . . . care of . . . him."_

"I'm getting too old for this." His hand on his pistol, Auron quickly threw open the door and exited the room.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Cuppa Joe's Mojo.  
20:49.  
Thursday, December 5. _

With another two shots of caffeine added to her usual coffee drink, Lulu sat at her regular table, poring over what little evidence she had been provided with on Seymour's case. In truth, she was just doing that in an attempt to distract herself from the other things she really didn't want to think about. Sighing for what must have been the hundredth time tonight, she rested her head on her hand and looked up from the paperwork, staring at the traffic and the people strolling past her favorite coffee shop. For the first time since she became a lawyer, she found herself wishing that she was one of them. It would be so wonderful . . . to not have a care in the world despite the attacks almost two weeks ago. They were a strong people, a hardy people. Just like she was.

Lulu always got stomach aches when she was feeling nervous or apprehensive about something. And right now, with Seymour's trial weighing very heavily on her mind, was most certainly a time to feel apprehensive. It was as if a lead weight was rapidly shooting around in her gut like a pinball. Ignoring the pain, she grabbed her large latte and took a long draw from the cup. She set it back down with a _clack_ on the cheap coaster that came with the drink. Checking her watch, she swore irritably before gathering the paperwork and stowing it neatly in her leather briefcase.

He was late.

As if Yevon sensed her irritation, her confidant and fellow attorney Gordon slowly shuffled into the café. Contrary to how Lulu was feeling, Gordon appeared very happy and at ease. His rosy face was smiling as he walked over to where she was sitting. When he reached her, he pulled out one of the tiny chairs and sat down on it (Lulu was surprised that, with his girth, he didn't need two). They sat staring at each other for over a minute, Gordon's face slowly turning serious as he saw that Lulu was nowhere near as happy as he seemed to be. Then again, Gordon was always happy. She wasn't.

"So," he finally said. "what is it that's so important you'd want to see me on this short of notice?"

Lulu made an irritated noise before sighing again and replying. "It's happened," she answered slowly. "I've been hired by the government to convict Seymour when he's found."

Gordon nearly fell out of this chair in astonishment. "Holy shit!" he said, louder than he should have. Several people turned to stare at him, but he didn't notice. "Congratulations, Lulu. That's one helluva promotion!"

Lulu shook her head. "You don't know the half of it," she muttered.

It only took the female attorney a few minutes to explain the phone call she had with Kinoc the previous night. When she got to the part about interrogation and torture, Gordon's eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing into his hair. He listened silently as Lulu continued and finished her explanation, and by the time she was done, her friend was shaking his head.

"Fuck," he uttered under his breath, sounding totally astonished. He spent the next minute or two shaking his head and muttering other curses, while Lulu waited for what she had told him to sink in. Finally, he looked up. "So, what are you going to do about this?"

"That's what I want your help in figuring out," Lulu said, sipping from her drink.

Gordon looked confused. "What do you mean? You already told Kinoc you'd do the job. What more is there to figure out?"

"It's not that," Lulu snapped. "I want so badly to be the prosecutor in his trial. But I don't like what I have to do in addition to being the prosecutor. It's almost like that creep Kinoc is blackmailing me. And that pisses me the hell off."

"You mean the torture." Gordon nodded as Lulu nodded. Then, he began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" she asked, her irritation rapidly transforming into anger.

Gordon made the motion of surrender with his hands. "Whoa, calm down," he said gently, his chuckling ceasing immediately after seeing Lulu's reaction. "I wasn't laughing at your discomfort. It's the irony that's amusing."

"What irony?" A gurgling noise emitted from her drink cup as she finished off the last dregs of her latte.

"Oh, it's nothing, really," Gordon said. "I just remember a young woman who was do driven, so ardent in being the most lawfully ruthless attorney in history. Nothing could affect this woman. Nothing would derail her from her visions or her methods. Nothing would stand in her way." He paused. "And now I'm seeing a different side of this same woman. A side she was hiding . . . perhaps." He said the last bit with a bit of a smirk on his face. "Maybe, underneath that steely and emotionless exterior of yours, there's a certain conscience trying to make itself heard."

Instead of biting his head off, as Gordon expected her to do, she sighed. "I was afraid of that," she said softly.

Gordon looked surprised at her mild reaction. "Pardon?"

"I thought I was exactly as you said I was. I truly did," she continued. "Impervious. Formidable. But then again, I was always used to doing so underneath the shield of law. And now my conscience is getting in the way. I **know **it's illegal for me to be an interrogator, or to torture people. And just because Kinoc says that I won't be held responsible for anything that happens . . ."

Gordon leaned forward. "Forget the law," he said, waving it aside as though it was nothing more than an inconvenience. "Forget everything about the law. Kinoc has already said that you'll be legally safe. And who gives a shit if he's within his rights to do that? He's Kinoc. Hell, he's Yevon, as far as we're concerned. I think it's safe to say that the reason you're still troubled about this is that your own personal morals and ethics are being tested. And they've never been tested like this before. It was more clear-cut, wasn't it? A fair, clean trial to punish the bad guys. Good versus evil."

"I'm not supposed to feel that way, though, that's just it!" Lulu said in a riled undertone. "A lawyer is a lawyer. I've put away innocent people and known it every step of the way. You know it's not about who's right, it's about who's got the best and most convincing argument. I'm so pissed at myself for even second guessing this. Seymour would no doubt would kill me without a passing thought if I was Al Bhed. I know he deserves to be tortured. But I still can't bring myself to the idea that I'll be pulling the trigger, so to speak."

"Then don't do it," Gordon said simply.

"You just don't get it, do you? It's not that simple for me!" Lulu said, shaking her head. "You have no idea how badly I want to convict this man."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to convict him so badly? Are you trying to prove something to yourself? Or worse, to the people of this city?"

"What are you talking about?"

Gordon was starting to get irritated as well. "Lulu, do you remember that conversation we had on the night of the attacks? Remember you said something to me about hoping somebody famous would get arrested, and that you'd convict him to stop the media from attacking you?"

Lulu nodded. "Yeah. I remember."

Gordon shook his head. "So, are you saying that the main reason you want Seymour so badly is so that you'll be protecting your own image by convicting him?" Lulu knew that her colleague was wording it that way on purpose. At her silence, Gordon shook his head. "I don't believe it, Lulu. I can't believe you'd want to capitalize on this tragedy just to save your own skin."

"Bullshit," Lulu snapped. Once again, Gordon was taken aback at her response. Just a second ago, she seemed uncomfortable. Now she looked angrier than he had ever seen her. "Don't even go there with me Gordon. That total selflessness crap of yours is fucking ridiculous. Nobody does anything anymore unless there's something in it for them. And perhaps you don't realize this because you don't want to, but I am in the greatest position to do something about these attacks and help those people." She pointed her finger out at the passing traffic. "What could be a greater public service than to convict the man who has caused so much fear, pain and suffering? What more could I possibly do, in your eyes, that would bring a greater sense of closure to these people?"

The silence that followed was very tense. Lulu had stood up and was leaning across the table to shout into her friend's face. In her anger, she disregarded where she was or who might have been watching. Indeed, the other customers in the bar were once again staring at their table, only more incredulously this time. Gordon just looked at her, his face disappointed and sad. At seeing this, and suddenly becoming aware of everybody staring at them, she relaxed and sat down again, looking somewhat ashamed.

"Forgive me . . ." she muttered. "I shouldn't get so angry with you. It's just . . ."

Gordon was shaking his head again, and then he looked square into Lulu's scarlet eyes. "Maybe you're right," he said softly. "But honestly, Lulu, I really couldn't care less **what** Seymour's conviction does right now. If you want me to help you, you need to ask yourself **why** you want to do this. And I'm asking this honestly, not to accuse you. Do you want Seymour for them or for you?"

"I, well . . ." Lulu replied, struggling for words. She sighed again. "A little of both," she finally admitted.

Gordon nodded. "All right. At least you can be honest with yourself. Now I can help you figure out what to do about taking his case. As I said, you are protected by the law from any backlash."

"Protected by Kinoc, you mean," Lulu corrected glumly, shaking her cup in the hopes of finding more coffee. There was none.

Gordon shrugged. "There really isn't a difference. My point is that the only thing that will be affected by this inquisition is your conscience. It's a serious enough proposal that it's the most important point, and you can't deny that. The question you need to ask yourself is . . . are you going to be able to wake up the following mornings, should you decide to do this, without losing your own mind?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Home, Bourbon St.  
22:02.  
Thursday, December 5._

Auron's light jacket ruffled in the desert wind that was blowing through the city's suburbs. The wind was warm and dry, and dust was attempting to bury itself in Auron's eyes. Some did, but most of it was deflected by his sunglasses, which were even more handy here in the desert than in the arctic. On the other hand, sunset had faded to twilight, where one half of the sky still glowed faintly with brilliant red and orange. The other half was completely dark, the stars just beginning to show themselves. A near-full moon was also beginning to rise, whose light would eventually outshine most of the stars in the sky.

That was the only pretty thing about this place.

The conditions of the people in the city of Home often went unmentioned in the intercity media. Perhaps it was because SINN and the other news networks had spent so much time in the months and years past talking about how bad things were. Several years ago, during the Al Bhed Depression, the top stories on the news would always be talking about the conditions of the slums, the skyrocketing crime rate, and the collapse of the city's infrastructure. They would talk of the corruption scandals and the ousted politicians (one of whom was replaced by the current mayor, Rin). In the stead of all this, the citizens' stories often went unknown and unrecognized.

Auron was still outside the downtown area of Home, walking through part of the most depressed and dilapidated area of the city. He walked amidst the rows and rows of abandoned buildings whose bricks were crumbling, whose roofs and doors were rotting and whose windows were smashed. The homeless and the crazy dotted the area. Bums in dirt-matted clothing sat or slept on the cracked sidewalk; some were talking to each other or even themselves. One had an empty shopping cart next to him, nearly falling apart with rust. He stared intently at Auron as he passed, but Auron ignored it. Trash piled along the sides of the buildings and on the sidewalk. Some bums used the old newspapers, empty bottles, sand and other decomposed matter for pillows. The stench that greeted Auron's nose was a contemptible mix of trash, decomposing food and newspaper, and feces. He could see smoke billowing in the distance, and the sounds of sirens coming from the same direction.

Passing yet another abandoned building, he looked in one of the windows to see the faint glimmer of flames. In addition, he could hear the sounds of shouting inside. Auron saw a lot just with that one fleeting look. He could see what looked to be a drug deal gone awry. Subconsciously, he waited to hear the sound of several gunshots, and only sighed when they did indeed follow. Several prostitutes had clustered underneath a lattice, whispering amongst themselves. One of them cast a foxy look Auron's way, but he ignored that as well. There were only a few more blocks to go before he was in downtown Home.

He looked ahead at the scenery, slowly transforming from ghetto to industry. As he did, he saw a car rolling slowly in his direction. It was a black, low-riding car, and as it got nearer, the two windows of the car facing the sidewalk rolled down. Auron had hit the ground even before he saw two muzzles poke out of the car. The earsplitting sound of machine gun fire filled his conscious thoughts, followed soon after by screaming. Then, as soon as it had started, it was gone, as signified by the squealing of the car's tires and the apparent stillness around him.

Vision in his one good eye swimming, Auron slowly rose from the ground, checking himself over. When he was sure that he had not been hurt and his sight returned to normal, he looked around. Two people in business suits, about 60 feet in front of him, lay dead on the sidewalk, their bodies twisted grotesquely. Red lines covered their face and blood fanned around them as though they had fallen in red paint. A third person, who was also in a suit, staggered along the wall, clutching his side. He had been shot at least three times, as was evident by the red circles on his tattered shirt. The man convulsed all of a sudden, retching as a cascade of blood flowed from his mouth and splashed to the ground, pooling with the other puddles of the two dead. Auron turned his head away so that he couldn't see anymore, but heard the body collapse soon afterward.

It was haunting him.

_ "JECHT!"_

The bums and other people who were around at the time of the shooting did nothing about the three dead men on the sidewalk. They either went back to sleep, stepped over them or ignored them in some other way. Their lives proceeded as normal. It was as if this were a common and everyday occurrence. But then Auron remembered, yes, it probably was an everyday occurrence here. And Auron certainly couldn't do anything about the dead. It was rather ridiculous to assume that anybody else would want to, Auron reasoned as he made his way into downtown Home.

"Are you all right?" Kinoc's voice softly rang in Auron's ear, jolting the latter man out of his reverie.

"Hmph," Auron grunted. "I'm alive," he added shortly, "and that's good enough."

"Good to hear," Kinoc replied.

"I'm disappointed, Kinoc. Not much has changed here since the last time."

Kinoc snorted. "The Home government's way of handling the crime rate is by killing everyone who commits crimes. I'm surprised that nothing is done about it."

"I had thought that was the SIA's job," Auron queried.

"Not unless it's extremely high-profile," Kinoc replied. "It's the city government's job otherwise."

"Crime is crime," Auron remarked, waiting for the light to turn green so that he could cross the street. "It doesn't matter if you look like a thug or you're wearing a suit." Kinoc did not answer.

The light turned green, and Auron walked quickly across the busy intersection. He had finally made it deep within downtown, the safe part of the city. And by 'safe', he meant the least violent, for the crime was bad everywhere. No, crime of a different kind had its roots in the city. The majority of the crime that took place in the downtown area was done by the rich, whether they be politicians or drug lords who had their own portion of the city bought off. If one saw a man in a suit walking the streets, a black cloud usually followed. One would have to do a very thorough hunt just to find a businessman here who **wasn't **corrupt. In some cases, the politicians of Home's own government were bought off by the crime lords. The crime rate itself had not gone down. In fact, it had increased. But the government made sure that statistic was a well-kept secret.

It was totally dark now, and the city lights had taken over as a substitute for the tropical sun. Like the nights of the remote island of Bikanel, the dark side of its island city showed itself when the sun went down. It was often said that more drug deals went down at night than there were traffic tickets issued. In fact, the police department itself, in some ways, was yielding to the criminal underworld of Home. Even the cops could be bought off. Especially the cops. They made less money than the bureaucrats. The illegal business was slowly and steadily poisoning the city.

"All right, Auron. Time to get invisible," Kinoc said into the earpiece. "You first want to get close to the building and see if you can I.D. the guards from a distance. We'll worry about getting into the building later. I have a plan for that."

Kinoc liked to think that he was helping Auron by giving him instructions. Auron, on the other hand, had no such delusion. When he was out here, risking his life for a mission that he would never receive credit for, he did things at his own whim. So, by the time Kinoc had told him to start taking to the shadows, Auron had already disappeared into the darkness of the poorly-lit side streets. Besides, Auron was a professional. By now, he certainly didn't need to be told how to do his job. He was a cautious man, especially here in Home. In fact, the only reason Auron put up with Kinoc's habit of calling his every move was because the SIA director did provide essential information on occasion.

Now deep within the alley, Auron pressed his back against the wall and held his breath, listening for any suspicious sounds. He stayed there for roughly a minute before slowly creeping along the wall, careful to stay in the shadows. Trash and empty boxes were everywhere. Auron did not mind the boxes; he could use them for cover if he needed to. However, he was very careful to avoid the loose trash, as stepping on it could generate massive amounts of noise. He was quite sure that it wouldn't be that loud, but when he needed to sneak, everything sounded ten times louder. And it only took one slip-up for somebody to hear him.

Auron was almost through the alley and into the other street when he heard a door open behind him. Quickly, Auron ducked behind a nearby dumpster. He could hear the sound of quick footsteps, and they were drawing closer to him.

"Probably not hostile," Kinoc said into his ear. "That building's just a restaurant. Be on guard though."

Auron's hand tightly gripped the holstered Beretta, slowly and noiselessly sliding it out. He winced a bit at the quiet _click_ he heard when he flipped the safety off. Holding the gun at the ready, Auron chanced a look around the dumpster, trying to see who it was that was closing on him. At the last minute though, he changed his mind and snapped his head back behind the dumpster so that he was once again fully hidden. The footsteps now virtually right next to him, Auron raised the pistol, just in case. However, in the next five seconds, the person just lifted the lid of the dumpster, tossed a trash bag in it and began walking away.

"These civilian bastards are gonna drive me to an early grave," Kinoc stated as Auron emerged into the next street a minute later.

"Hmph," was all Auron said.

Kinoc chuckled. "Sorry," he said. "You're about two blocks away now. The satellite imaging shows that these streets are relatively clear, but someone could pop up anytime. Be alert. Stick to the alleys."

Auron ignored that suggestion too. A different idea in mind, Auron exited the alley and walked the main street to the other side of the restaurant before turning down that alley. As he suspected, a fire escape loomed about halfway down. Once again being careful and quiet, he made his way to the fire escape. Slowly and silently, he began to climb. Even being as quiet as he could, his footsteps still caused the metal to emit a small _clang. _Because of this, Auron paused every few seconds to listen for any noises. Especially now, since he was getting close to the suspicious building, he was on alert in case the guards' surrounding perimeter had expanded beyond the building itself.

He made it to the rooftop without any problems. The thick power lines in this city ran from building to building, and he planned to use them to jump from roof to roof. The next building had a terrace right underneath the power line, which was the most Auron could ask for. Drawing a rope from his small pack he had on his back, he slung it over the power line and held onto each end. Peering down at the alley below him and the street to his left, and confirming that the coast was clear, he took a deep breath and leapt from the roof. Gravity carried him down the line and he landed gently on the balcony across from the building he jumped from.

"You're going along the roofs, aren't you?" Kinoc asked him.

Auron sighed, figuring he'd humor his superior just for the sake of putting an end to his questions. "The guards are down there. I'm up here. I can get a better view of them if I have the high ground. That way, they're less likely to notice me."

"All right, that sounds fine to me," Kinoc agreed. "I suppose, by now, I should have learned not to tell you how to do your job." Auron mentally agreed, but didn't say anything.

Auron tried the window that was level with the balcony, and was pleasantly surprised to find it unlocked. Slowly easing it open, he climbed in to find himself inside an office. It appeared as though the office was empty for the night, so Auron did not take too much care in being quiet as he meandered along the dark and deserted hallways. He was already on the top floor, so he began searching for a staircase or doorway that would take him up to the roof. Kinoc was almost finished drawing up the floor plans, so until then, Auron simply relied on instinct and lucky guessing.

"Who's there?"

Auron froze and looked wildly around him. He knew that what little light was in the room was cast in a way that allowed him to see his surroundings, but others who might be in the room could not see him. So, somebody must have heard him. Cursing himself for not being more careful, Auron drew his Beretta and very slowly retreated backward to an alcove with a fax machine in one corner. Slowly poking his head around the corner, he saw a short, thin man slowly walking down the hall, a pistol of his own clutched firmly in his shaking hands. Auron's eyebrows rose; obviously there was more to this place than met the eye. The man continued to walk slowly forward, and Auron knew that he was going to be discovered if he did not take some sort of action.

However, he had a plan. In watching the man's behavior, Auron noticed that he always looked to the right first when scanning the hallway. Since Auron was on the left side of the hallway, he had a small window of time where he could surprise the man when he passed. He retreated back into the corner of the alcove, waiting to see movement in the peripheral vision of his one good eye. When the man walked up to the alcove, Auron was ready. He leapt from the alcove when the man looked in the opposite direction, knocking his gun away, and grabbed him in a choke hold. To emphasize his seriousness, Auron put the tip of his gun's silencer to the other man's temple.

"Evening," Auron growled into the man's ear. "I have some questions for you. I suggest you answer them."

"Who- who the hell are you?" the man wheezed.

"I'm the guy who decides whether to knock you out or kill you," Auron replied calmly. "What you tell me greatly influences my decision. So let's get started. What is this place?"

"A– a law firm!" the guy shouted. "We're just a small private firm! We just deal with tax law!"

"Do your courts allow guns, or are you armed for a different reason?" Auron asked.

"I– I don't know what you're talking about!" was the response. "It's for protection!"

Auron turned off the safety on his Beretta, and his captor whimpered. "It didn't do you much good, now did it?" he replied, still very calmly and evenly. "Last chance before your story ends."

"Ahh! All right, all right! Some of our clients are a little on the shady side, so what? They pay us like royalty! Come on, man, don't fucking kill me!"

"The club across the street," Auron pressed. "Any VIP guests down there that you know about?"

"Just code names," the man wheezed. "Alpha One and Alpha Two, I think."

Kinoc blurted into his ear. "Those are the names of the two who rocketed the Stadium!" he exclaimed, sounding excited at such a promising lead.

Auron nodded. "Very good. You just earned the right to see the sun rise."

Before the man could respond, Auron had clocked him on the back of the head with the butt of his Beretta, knocking him unconscious. Still holding his limp body, Auron dragged the man to the corner in which he had previously been hiding, and tucked him in the corner, in a seated position. Auron decided to run this information by Kinoc before moving again.

"You heard him, then?" he asked.

"Every word," Kinoc replied. "Now we know that there's definitely something going on in there. And what's more, we have names. Even if they're fake, they probably don't know that we know the code names. If we hear them from anybody in there, we'll know that we found our guys. Get moving to the roof. I have the floor plans of the building you're in, so it's smooth sailing from here."

With the help of Kinoc's tracking system, he quickly found the way to the roof. Once there, he found that the door was locked, so he utilized his lock picks in removing that obstacle. Listening for the sounds of the pins clicking into place, he successfully managed to open the door in just over two minutes. The warm air was an unpleasant replacement to the cool rooms from which he came, but he paid no mind to that before locking and closing the door behind him.

"I've got a good view of the club's entrance from here," Auron said, quickly looking around.

"Right. See if you can find some way to identify the guards," Kinoc replied. "Look for emblems, uniform type, gun type."

Auron, crouching as he walked to keep within the shadow of the roof, slowly moved forward until he was right against the edge where he could look out over the street and the surrounding buildings. He drew his binoculars from his pack and got down on his stomach. There it was– the suspicious building he had traveled 7000 miles to investigate. It was most certainly a club, but it didn't look exclusive. A neon sign advertised it as The Cat's Meow_._ It was a fairly simple-looking building too, by the looks of it. Simple by a club's standards, anyway. Two guards were stationed at the entrance to the club, as well as two others on the building's corners facing the street.

As soon as he mentally took note of all the naked eye details, he pressed his binoculars to his good eye and began to scan the area. He focused in on the closest guard, who also happened to be well-lit by the extravagant blue, green and purple neon bars that snaked their way around the facade of the building. The guards did not wear military uniforms, but instead were clad in suits. This ruled out an official army. There were no emblems that Auron could see, either. Finally, he took note of the gun that the guard clutched in front of him. Even though Auron was very good at identifying gun types, it was still difficult to tell. But then, the guard shifted so that the gun's silhouette was illuminated. Auron immediately identified it as a Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun, standard issue for the Al Bhed Mafia. It didn't look as though Seymour's private guards were here.

Despite this seemingly false lead by the SIA, there was something noteworthy about this. Rarely was the Mafia ever seen out in public. On the contrary, the Al Bhed mob was known for being extremely reclusive, thus making it very difficult to locate anybody who belonged to the crime organization. The fact that they were openly guarding what appeared to be a legitimate public business was very odd indeed.

When Auron reiterated his findings to his boss, there was silence at first. Then, "You're right. This is all fucked up. Either they're getting audacious or somebody paid them a huge bonus to do this. Personally, I'd put my money on the latter. And where there's big pay, there's big crime. Big enough crime to involve Seymour. Go check it out."

"I don't see the point if the guards are Al Bhed," Auron said, irritated. "I hope you're not wasting my time, Kinoc."

"Come on, you should know that!" Kinoc laughed. Auron did not. "Look at it this way. Do you think these scummy bastards care who they protect, as long as they're paid? Even more, what if they weren't told who they're guarding? For all we know, it may not be something to do with Seymour. Or it could."

Auron was silent for a moment, thinking. "There is some truth to that," he finally admitted.

"Find out what's in that building," Kinoc ordered. "Use the roof like you've been doing. It's got the best and safest way in. There's a phone line that crosses the street right onto the rooftop to the club."

Unlike crossing a narrow, deserted alley, Auron had qualms about crossing a main street like Bourbon Street via line. And even though the traffic on this street was not that heavy, he would be very visible crossing like that. Light was his worst enemy. But then again, the more he moved, the more likely he was to be surprised by something unpleasant. And for him to cross more safely would mean getting down off this roof, crossing the street on foot, and then climbing back onto the roof of The Cat's Meow. Time was also critical. Auron didn't want to be out here any longer than he had to. And either way, he was greatly at risk.

Once again utilizing his rope, Auron made his way to the phone line, glancing at the club to see what kind of landing he could expect. There was nothing but the roof itself. He'd have to abandon his rope and time when he could let go and grab the edge of the roof. If he didn't time it right, he'd suffer a nasty fall. And even if the fall didn't kill him, the guards probably would. On the other hand, he was a professional at this sort of thing. Having only one eye accentuated his other senses slightly, and that included his timing. Because the club was a lower building than the one he was on, gravity would propel him without much effort.

Not giving it a second thought, Auron swung his small rope around the telephone line, and, making sure there was very little traffic on the road, pushed off with his feet. He felt the warm breeze under his arms and in his hair and he quickly approached the club's wall. Glancing down, he was satisfied to see that the guards did not notice his unorthodox approach to the building. The wall virtually right in front of him now, he let go of his rope and quickly grabbed hold of the building's side. The impact with the wall was more painful than the man had expected, but he was otherwise okay. Quickly pushing up with his hands, he found himself on the roof of The Cat's Meow.

"I've got the schematics of this building right here," Kinoc said. "This, coupled with my satellite . . . it's almost like cheating, this is so goddamn simple."

"Hmph," Auron said pointedly as he moved so that nobody could see him from the streets. "That's a matter of perspective, I'm sure."

Kinoc laughed. "I'm sure," he said. "Anyway, here's the deal. You can get into this building through the ventilation ducts. There's a bathroom that's connected to the vent right by your feet. Crawl into the vent, and I'll give you the clear when the bathroom's empty. Once you're in, we'll go from there."

It took Auron only a matter of seconds to locate the vent. He felt cool air hitting his face as he bent down to unclasp the grill over the duct. It came off with very little effort, and he crawled inside. The cramped space felt as cold as it did in Zanarkand. Auron adjusted to temperature differences quickly; it was so cold in comparison to the outside air in Home. Auron shook off the chills and quickly became used to the icy wind hitting his face. He inched forward, moving by using his arms to pull the rest of his body with him like a caterpillar. In a few minutes, he reached a fork in the vent. Looking both ways, he could only see more of the same duct.

"Which way?" he asked over the roar of the circulating air.

"Left," Kinoc replied. "Then the next right and you're there."

It took Auron another five minutes before he finally found the end of the duct. Keeping his distance from the somewhat dim atmospheric light of the bathroom, he slowly inched his way forward to get a quick scan of the bathroom. The stalls were right in front of him, and so were the urinals. The sinks were underneath him, and the door was to his right. He also appeared to be in a corner. The lights were in plain sight from the vent. However, he could not see whether anybody was in the stalls, of which there were three. The left one appeared to be vacant, as the door was ajar. However, he wasn't sure about the other two.

Quickly, a plan for getting out of the duct formed in his mind. He drew his Beretta, and over the next five minutes, Auron kept his intent eye on those two stalls to see if anyone would emerge from them. Indeed, a man who looked sick and in severe pain emerged from the far right stall, but the middle one remained quiet. Auron would have to assume (and risk) that there was nobody in that stall. He waited until the other two people using the urinal had cleared out before poking his silenced Beretta through the grill's slots and shooting out the lights in the room. That way, people would be discouraged from coming in for a short time while he maneuvered out of the bathroom.

Carefully, he removed the grill and began to work his way out of the duct. Several times, he was forced to freeze as a few people cracked the door, flicked the light switch a few times, then left. Eventually, he made his way out of the bathroom without any problems, replacing the grill and making his way for the door. As his continuing luck would have it, there was nobody at the door as he stepped out of the bathroom and into the rest of the club.

The heavy bass and volume of the music blaring from the DJ's corner of the dance floor made Auron's eardrums throb, but he ignored it as much as he could, surveying his surroundings. The dance floor was packed with people who barely had enough room to move, let alone dance. Disco lights, strobe lights, and a disco ball were set up, a fog machine blowing the smoky substance to illuminate the lights better. The colored beams of light were dancing all over the place, several hitting Auron's face. To his left, a couple was fervently making out, and he could see several other couples doing the same. The bar was to his right-front, and was virtually invisible due to the crowd surrounding it.

"Please tell me that whoever I'm looking for isn't out here," Auron shouted over the pounding bass.

"I think you're in luck," Kinoc replied. "Look to your right. Do you see another vent?"

"I see it," Auron confirmed, noting the small square grill about a foot off the ground.

"That vent leads to a different room," Kinoc replied. "There's two people in there right now. I think that's where you want to go. And if it makes you feel better, this vent is much shorter, and you won't have to go far at all to get to that room."

Not caring whether or not anyone would notice him, Auron quickly strode to the grill and removed it, climbing in and replacing it behind him. There were several people who did look curiously in his direction, but they were either too distracted or too drunk to care. The vent went up about four feet, like a stair step, and then hung a right. Auron followed it before seeing a grill that was placed in the vent's bottom. The vent passed right above the room, and the grill that Auron had seen was a ceiling vent.

"Is this it?" he asked before approaching it.

"Yep," Kinoc replied. "Be my eyes and ears."

Auron cautiously approached the grill and leaned down to see what was below him. Indeed, he could see two casually-dressed people sitting at a small card table, poring over what appeared to be a series of maps. One man and one woman, Auron noted, and they were facing Auron's right. Another MP5 submachine gun rested on the table, a magazine inside the gun. A radio was standing next to the gun. He could not see the door, but it was not on the wall behind the two people or the one to their left. The room looked to be nothing more than a small office, or possibly even a makeshift closet. The carpet was threadbare and littered with papers, and a broken-down copy machine rested in the corner. One of the fluorescent lights flickered.

"Why the Hell would he want us to meet up?" the woman asked. "It doesn't make any sense to me. Especially for Seymour to give away his position like that just for the sake of planning another attack."

"The information is from a very reliable source," the man countered. **"The **very reliable source. There's no reason for us to doubt it. The maps are legit, and we're being paid a considerable amount of money, half of which we already have as insurance. What wouldn't make any sense is for us to doubt this Intel."

"That's why I'm worried," the woman responded. "It's **too** much Intel. It would only take one rat to finish us off. We'd be arrested and tried for terrorism and crimes against humanity. Death sentence, no question."

"Listen. We're not paid or assigned to question the Intel we receive," the man replied. "How often do we risk our goddamn necks for these shitheads anyway? All the fucking time. This is no different. We meet with Seymour, we coordinate the attack, we get paid the other 50 percent, and we're gone. Like usual."

"Oh, I'm doing the job, all right," the woman snapped back. "I just don't like it. I smell a goddamn setup."

All of a sudden, the radio on the table crackled to life. "Alpha One, Alpha One. This is Beta Command." Auron could immediately tell that the voice on the radio was intentionally distorted; it sounded electronic. "Be ready for the rendezvous in five. Is Alpha Two with you?"

"She is, Beta Command," the man responded.

"Good. Be ready," came the response before the radio went dead.

The man turned to Alpha Two, who had begun gathering the papers off the table. "Alrighty. Let's move."

What happened next was over before Auron could even register what happened. Alpha One and Two briefly moved out of Auron's field of vision. A door opened, and Auron assumed that they had left and he had to tail them. However, what Auron did not expect was a shout of surprise from Alpha One, followed by the sound of two muffled gun shots. Alpha One backed up where Auron could see him once again, and two men followed him. One was holding a small pistol, the other an aluminum baseball bat. The man with the bat clocked Alpha One in the side, causing him to buckle to his knees.

"What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck are you guys?" he shouted.

"Change of plans," was all the man with the bat said before raising the aluminum object.

"What the–" were Alpha One's last words.

Auron closed his eye as he heard the sound of a dull crunch, followed by the hiss of many droplets of blood coating the wall. The body crumpled to the ground with a soft thud. However, as Alpha One died, Auron heard another voice, a voice in his head. One that also resided in the Farplane. It was accompanied by the sound of a pistol blast echoing in a dark alleyway. He heard a scream followed by the sound of his accomplice hitting the ground with a splash. He heard the groans of a dying man, a man drowning in his own blood.

"Jecht . . ." he softly muttered. He was back.

_ "I'm a dead man."_

"Was that necessary?" the man without the bat said a minute later, after Auron heard much shuffling about.

There was a clanging sound as the bat was tossed aside. "Fucker shot one of my men, I repaid him accordingly."

Auron heard footsteps leaving the room, followed by the eerie silence that was broken only by the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights. He opened his eyes to a gruesome sight. Though Alpha One's upper body was buried in a pile of papers, Auron could see blood coating the whole wall. Fine little specks of the red liquid were everywhere and were surrounded by spidery red lines that crisscrossed and slowly dribbled their way down to the floor. A small pool was oozing from Alpha One's body. The bat used to kill the man was lying on the floor against the broken copy machine, the end coated in red.

"Get those maps, now, while you still can," Kinoc said urgently, startling Auron slightly. "Then get the fuck outta there. Whoever killed those two will no doubt be back, and we'll lose the maps!"

Auron wasted no time. Not caring how much noise he made, he positioned himself so that he kicked the grill clean off the vent before letting himself drop into the room. Alpha Two's body was just as bloody, but still intact. Next to her right hand was the MP5, having never been fired. The papers that were still on the table were bespeckled with blood as well; no doubt Alpha Two had been standing in front of the table when she'd been shot in the head. The radio at Alpha Two's side had taken the second bullet, rendering it useless.

Auron scanned the maps and nodded. Not bothering to wipe away the blood coating the uppermost one, he grabbed them, rolled them up and tucked them under his arm.

"I have the maps," Auron said calmly, stepping over Alpha Two's limp form.

"Good, now go! Use the door and get out of there!" Kinoc urged.

_ "Go, before they kill you. Leave me!"_

Leaving the two corpses behind, he tested the door to the room and looked both ways before exiting, never looking back.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, North Pole Hotel and Suites.  
23:31.  
Thursday, December 5. _

To exist was the very basic function of any human. One did not need to feel any emotion or do anything just to exist. And right now, Rikku was just . . . existing. In the last 24 hours, she had not spoken, eaten, moved, slept, or made any noise of any kind. Her face didn't even twitch. If zombies were real, Rikku could certainly have passed for one. That or a porcelain doll; the only thing that looked remotely colorful on her face was the bruising and the dried blood running down from her nose and mouth.

Now, in the very nice hotel room in which she was staying (and for which Paine paid in cash for a week-long stay),Rikku lay curled in the fetal position on one of the king-sized beds, staring unblinkingly at the oak night stand, but not really seeing it. She could hear Paine washing up for bed in the bathroom nearby but, at the same time, she couldn't hear it. Out of the corner of her eye, through the window, she could see snow trying to fall. But at the same time, she couldn't see it. She felt as though her brain was detached from the rest of her body so that nothing she saw or felt registered with her.

Instead, last night's events had been flashing through her mind's eye on repeat. At least fifty times now, she saw herself getting viciously raped by that bartender. At least fifty times, she saw her rescuer and captor save her life. At least fifty times, she saw a shower of blood explode out of the back of Tony's head as Paine executed him. Her ears still rang slightly from the sound of the gunshot. And ever since then, she felt drained. Scared. Helpless. Exhausted. Angry. Cheated. But above all, she felt hopeless.

She heard the door click, and a moment later, saw Paine walking by her. Her silvery hair glistened, having just gotten out of the shower. It seemed as though she was set to go to bed, as she was only in her undergarments. Subconsciously, Rikku watched her as she sat down at the table on the opposite wall and picked up her palm pilot, tapping the screen several times before writing a few things down on the complimentary hotel paper left on the table. When she was finished, she stowed the pilot and paper in her satchel, which was resting in another chair, before moving to her own bed and pulling down the sheets.

Rikku closed her eyes and shivered, feeling the fatigue and the cold fighting for control as each tried to slowly overtake her body. The light behind her eyelids dimmed as Paine turned out the lamp. At this sudden change of atmosphere, she opened her swirl eyes again, where she could now see nothing but the vast expanse of Zanarkand outside the window. But once again, she didn't really see it. She saw Tony's twisted face; Zanarkand was only a backdrop.

Suddenly, Paine's emotionless voice broke the room's silence. "You ought to get yourself cleaned up and get some rest. You look like shit."

Rikku did not make any indication that she heard her. Paine still had not gotten into bed yet, and her pale skin was faintly outlined by the orange glow of Zanarkand's buildings. And though Rikku could not see her face, she was sure that Paine was looking right at her with those intimidating red eyes. Despite this, Rikku did not move or say a word, true to her behavior for the last day.

"Suit yourself," Paine said after a few seconds of silence, then choosing to get into bed. "It doesn't make any difference to me."

Rikku still said nothing, and silence once again settled between the pair. Paine had hardly spoken to Rikku, other than to say things like, "I'll be back" or "You should eat something." Rikku was often left alone by herself too. The odd thing, however, was that Paine did not tie her up to prevent her from escaping. Rikku could have, in effect, escaped the hotel and Paine with very little trouble. However, Rikku had no energy or will to do that. Since the time Paine pointed her gun at Rikku back in the alley, she had given no indication that she planned on killing her hostage. And perhaps it was also true that she knew that Rikku was not in any mental state to mount an escape.

For the next ten minutes, Rikku only heard the sound of heavy wind-whipped snow attacking the window and the occasional plane roaring overhead from the nearby airport. The bed to her right was silent; Paine was neither snoring nor giving any indication that she was awake. Rikku heard the sound of voices as they passed by the door to their room, laughing animatedly about something.

"Why . . . haven't you killed me?" Rikku spoke for the first time since last night.

Rikku heard the sound of Paine turning underneath her covers, indicating that she was at least partially awake. "I see you've decided to break your vow of silence." Her voice was as sharp as it had been last she spoke to her.

"Please . . . answer the question."

"Do you want me to kill you?"

Rikku did not answer, once again retreating into silence. The whole time she had been talking to Paine, she had her face pressed against the bed sheets so that her voice sounded muffled. Once again, she heard Paine shifting her position. Rikku opened one eye and saw that Paine had left her bed entirely. Not really caring where she had gone, Rikku sighed softly and closed her eyes again, burying her face in the sheets. Her eyes, however, snapped wide open again when she heard the horrifying _click_ of Paine's gun. She screamed briefly, and saw Paine sitting on her bed again, still in her undergarments, holding her pistol level with Rikku's forehead.

"Please . . . answer the question." Paine replied, imitating but not mocking what Rikku had demanded of her earlier. "If you want me to, I'll kill you. Right now."

Rikku was silent for a moment. Surprisingly, however, the faint flicker of fear that she had felt earlier had left. "You would kill me like I asked you to? Would you?" She sounded as though she were pleading with Paine to do so.

Rikku could see Paine nod against the silhouette of the skyline. "I've killed people for lesser things than favors," she said coldly. "If you're testing me with the will and desire to stay alive, you'd best quit now."

Rikku looked up, her eyes shining. "I'm already dead," she whispered.

Paine still had the gun trained on Rikku's forehead, but her hand twitched. "How unfortunate," she replied, sounding totally unsympathetic in contrast to her words. "As you wish. Why should I waste a bullet on a dead girl?"

Rikku could not fight it anymore. She broke down in quiet sobbing, gripping the sheets tightly. Paine did not move or say a word, but instead kept the pistol mercilessly pointed at the sobbing Al Bhed on the other bed. Rikku either did not notice or did not care, for she kept crying quietly for the next five minutes or so. And the whole time, Paine stared her down with her gun. Finally after another few minutes, Rikku managed to speak again.

"I mean inside, you know?" she hiccupped. "Do you know what it's like to know that, for your whole life, people have wanted you dead?"

"I do," Paine said. "Why do you think I kill them first?"

Rikku pretended that Paine did not answer. "My whole life, I've been a target. I've been surrounded by people who are angry, depressed or mean. A long time ago, when I first came to Zanarkand, I decided to always be happy. I thought, 'Maybe I can cheer somebody up.' You know? I . . . didn't want to be all sad like they were. I wanted to be happy, even knowing that Bevelle wanted me dead and Pops is a drunk." She paused, regaining her composure. Paine just listened. "But it seems like being happy is a bad thing, you know? Like the world wants me to be the victim of cruel and evil people like you and Tony."

Paine made no indication here of having been insulted. Instead, she lowered the pistol and set it on the night stand, much to Rikku's surprise. However, she looked only slightly relieved.

"Between being stuck in Home, Seymour personally threatening me and everyone I love, and getting raped and then kidnapped, I don't know if I can ever be happy ever again," Rikku said, her voice cracking. "So, aren't I already dead?"

Paine was silent a minute before getting back into bed. "I don't know," she said once she had settled back in. "Maybe. Maybe not. **I'm** not Al Bhed."

"Do you even care about anything I just told you?" Rikku asked, pleading for the answer she wanted to hear.

Her wish was spurned. "In the grand scheme of things . . . no," Paine said shortly.

"You're a liar," Rikku accused, sitting up slowly. "You must care about **something**. Otherwise, why would you have saved my life? Huh? Why? And why haven't you killed me yet? You keep threatening to, but you never do!" Silence. "You know, I thought you were my hero once. You saved me in Bevelle, and you killed that guy in the alley. Why? Why are you like this?"

Paine did not answer. Rikku knew that she would not, so she just let her head collapse back to the bed before starting to cry again. It seemed a real possibility now that she would never see Yuna again, the only person who truly showed any interest in caring for her. Paine the Sociopath obviously did not care whether Rikku lived or died, and yet she had kept her alive. It was just so unfair. Rikku was so harmless and once so full of life. And now, for the first time ever, Rikku herself began to question whether or not life was worth it anymore.

"Did he get you?" Paine's voice suddenly broke through Rikku's sobs.

"W-what?"

"Did he actually manage to rape you?" Rikku's only response was an elevation in the volume of her crying. "I see." Paine was silent again before she said the final words of that night.

"Then I am truly sorry."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Bikanel Island, Southwestern Shore.  
01:09.  
Friday, December 6. _

_I stand in an alley that I know all too well, in an alley where my life changed forever, in an alley where I thought I would never return. It's a fairly plain alley, the sides of two rundown buildings forming the walls with an overflowing, rusting and smelly dumpster resting against one of them. The alley is deserted with the exception of me, currently standing square in the middle of it. I see the worn and grimy asphalt with numerous potholes, one of which had collected Jecht's blood after he had been shot. The only difference between now and then was that it had been raining when my partner met his demise. But otherwise, everything remained the same. I remember everything so clearly, it is as though it had just happened._

_ It was about nine-thirty on Monday, the fourth of June, three years ago. Jecht and I had been assigned to track and bring down a high-profile drug lord and to kill the mercenary accompanying him. This particular lord was in charge of half the criminal underworld, owned almost all of the seedy businesses in town and was personally connected in some way with more than a third of the murders in Home. This was back in the days when the Al Bhed depression was in full swing and crime was the highest-paying business of the time. At the time, the SIA had undercover men in the crime ring, and had decided that tonight was the best time to apprehend him. However, he had been tipped off somehow and had taken flight. We were given orders to follow, and our pursuit took us to this alley._

_ We had easy access to the roofs of the two buildings that created this alley, and we decided to use them to get a better vantage point for finding the two. I had decided to climb on the roof while Jecht took the ground route. We were both stubborn and had both wanted to take the ground route, but Jecht won the argument that night. It was that stubbornness which we both shared that made us such good friends. And it's the stubbornness that would kill him as well._

_ I saw both men from my spot on the roof. They were waiting along the alley wall, behind that dumpster that's still here right now. I saw an MP5 in the hands of the mercenary, and the drug lord (whose name was Marty) sported two Uzi pistols. They each had their guns trained on opposite ends of the alley, the mercenary to the right and Marty to the left. Why they didn't just keep going would become apparent to me a few minutes later, when it was too late. But in the meantime, I wondered why they hadn't kept going in an attempt to lose us. _

_ Jecht then radioed me. "What's going on, Auron?" he asked me in that gravelly voice, hardened by so much alcohol. He was an obsessive drinker._

_ "Talk to Kinoc," I replied. Indeed, I had reported my sightings to our boss as soon as I could. "I just told him. He can give you the intel in addition to the next course of action."_

_ "Got it," Jecht confirmed. A few minutes later, while I was keeping a close eye on the two criminals, he came back on. "Kinoc gave the okay," he said. "I'm going in."_

_ Though usually a calm person, I was horrified. I had not yet cleared my partner. "No, Jecht! Stay back! They've got the whole alley covered!" _

_ But it was too late. Jecht moved into the alley, and shouted, "We have your asses surrounded! Surrender and you won't get fucked up! Attack and we will fucking kill you!" Jecht always had a style of his own, but it did not help him in the alley. Both men poked their guns over the dumpster and fired. Bullets flew through the air at him, who was very much outgunned with his simple pistol. Since neither of the men knew I was there, I took this opportunity to take a cheap shot at the mercenary, who fell to the ground with one shot to the head. Before the drug lord could figure out what happened, I quickly ducking back , seeking the cover of the roof. Jecht began to close in on him. It looked as though we had him until the van showed up. _

_ So that's what they were waiting for. _

_ "Get down!" I shouted, as the van spewed more men with more automatic weapons, all of them firing on Jecht, who hadn't reacted in time. _

_BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM._

_ Four shots were fired. All four hit their target._

_ "FUCK!"_

_ "JECHT!"_

_ I barely noticed as the drug lord, shielded by the bullets of his cohorts, made his way to the van and escaped. All I heard was the sound of retreating footsteps echoing in the alley. The sound of a man collapsing to a large puddle of water. The sound of a pistol clattering to the asphalt._

_ The sounds of a dying man._

_ Faster than I thought possible, I had made my way down from the roof and rushed to where Jecht lay on the ground. A puddle where much of the rain had collected lay underneath him. All I could do was watch as the puddle grew slowly larger with his blood. All I could do was watch as Jecht mustered all his strength to roll and face me. All I could do was watch as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a fountain of liquid. He tried to sit up, and I helped him by holding his head in my hands. _

_ "Take . . . care of . . . him." He spluttered. "Take care of Tidus . . . for me. He needs . . . someone strong to care for him . . . he's such a crybaby. Maybe . . . you'll be better for him." He coughed up more blood as I shook my head._

_ "I'm getting you out of here," I said, despite knowing that this would never happen._

_ "No you're not," Jecht laughed. "I'm a dead man . . . a fucking maggot for justice. Now go! Go, before they kill you! . . . Leave me!" _

_ Now enraged, I reached for my pistol, prepared to run after the gunman, when Jecht said his final word. _

_ "Tidus . . ."_

_ The gun fell out of my hands simultaneously with Jecht's head. Both of us were still._

'Damn Kinoc. Damn him.'

Auron clicked off the tape and put it back in the manila envelope. He had arrived at the rendezvous point, a small harbor on the western shore of Bikanel Island. A small boat and its captain were waiting for him there, as planned. Auron grabbed his gear from the backseat of the old beater truck he had been provided with at the last minute, walking the sands of the upper beach in order to reach the wharf. Soon, he was greeted by the captain, a young man who worked for the SIA just as Auron did. The captain's job was simply to transport him to his next destination.

"Good evening," the captain said, extending his hand. Auron shook it briefly. "It's going to take the rest of the night to get to the archipelago, so you'll have a few hours to catch some sleep and whatever else you need. Sound okay?"

Auron nodded just before handing the captain the manila envelope that contained the tape. "See that this gets sent back to the SIA," he said.

"What is it?" the captain inquired as they stepped onto the boat.

"A confession," Auron said as he went below decks.

Five hours later, after a short nap and a long trip over the open ocean, Auron found himself on the northernmost island of the archipelago that curved southwest of Bikanel. To the east, the sky was just beginning to lighten from black to blue as the sun began to rise. All around him, he could hear the roar of the ocean waves as they collided with the rocky shore of the small island. There was a small breeze whipping Auron's tired face and ruffling his short salt-and-pepper hair. Everything about this island appeared pleasant and welcoming. However, Auron and the SIA knew that it currently harbored a well-guarded secret.

For some reason, Auron was quite sure that Jecht would have loved this next and final mission of his. If Auron was successful, he knew that he would have done a great deal to honor Jecht's dying wish.

'I will protect Tidus,' he thought.

Kinoc had given him the okay.

Mission Objective: Apprehend Seymour.

'This time, I will not fail.'

* * *

Alright, there it is. The end of chapter 11. How was it?

Here's what to be expecting when chapter 12, called Roll With It, hits the net:

(a) Seymour is back in the story, talking from his hiding place.  
(b) Tidus and Yuna go on their long-awaited date.  
(c) Rikku and Paine share another conversation on the road.  
(d) Auron does his final mission- capture Seymour alive.

As always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

SirGecko


	12. Roll With It

Hello everyone. Here's chapter 12 at 22 3/4 pages. I decided to rewrite the end after determining that it was too short. It was originally short because I didn't want the entire chapter to be too long, but then came to the conclusion that chapter length shouldn't matter too much if it's good, right?

This chapter, I had originally thought, wasn't going to be one of my better ones. However, I am always capable of surprising myself. In fact, I actually think that this my favorite one in the entire story. The following characters are in this chapter: Seymour, Tidus, Yuna, Rikku, Paine, and Auron. Kinoc and Wakka make very, very minor appearances. In this chapter, we see Seymour's thoughts from his hiding place. Tidus and Yuna go on their date. Finally. And Auron goes on his mission to capture Seymour. However, the best segment, I think, is between Rikku and Paine. I won't tell you anything else.

Alright, now my favorite part of the Author notes. Haha. Here's the disclaimer and liability labels.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

Alright, I think that's it. Read and enjoy chapter 12.

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**Chapter 12: Roll With It**

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__  
Bikanel Archipelago, North Island One.  
18:07.  
Friday, December 6. _

Tropical sunsets are meant to be seen in person. Seen with one's own eyes, they fall nothing short of spectacular. A glowing red ball, masked by a few stray clouds, splashed varying shades of yellow, red and orange across the sky, slowly and majestically replacing the crisp blue that had dominated before. The sun's reflection was also cast in the water, which shimmered like a bed of fine gems. The fronds of the palm trees waved and danced gently in the warm breeze that drifted in from the southwest, their silhouettes black against the setting sun. Ocean waves gently glided onto the smooth beach sand, making a pleasant _whooshing_ noise.

There were those that said a picture was worth a thousand words. But the actual experience was worth so much more.

However, scenery was not the reason that Seymour was here. The island was abandoned, part of a DASC sanction for land conservation. International law prohibited settlement on the island, but those laws were of no concern to Seymour. A settlement violation was nothing compared to his other crimes. The fact that the island wasn't populated at all was one of the reasons Seymour chose to come here. But even more than that, the island was too rugged and barren to support many people. Indeed, the place that Seymour had come to call home was nothing more than a few rooms and many passages, made from dynamite, inside a rock face that overlooked the water. The caved were forged just for Seymour, and they created an ideal place to hide. The rock would impede the ability of satellites to track him as well. It was an ideal location to hide and mount a plan of action.

Almost two weeks had passed since his announcement over the Internet, and nobody, not even the SIA, had the faintest clue where he was hiding. He had men all over the world, people in governments, agencies, news networks, and other places. People were ready to tell him if there was even a remote possibility that someone knew where he was. So far, though, nothing. His security was impeccable. At the first sign of trouble, he would leave for an alternate destination. Since he felt quite cozy here on this deserted and beautiful island, he had decided to take a few minutes to enjoy what the place had to offer before he went back to his other duties. The view also helped him forget his troubles.

The sun was beginning to fade over the horizon as the former mayor fixed himself a drink and sat in a plush chair that looked out at the sea. This was the only one of the rooms that had a window, because he could not stand to be without a small measure of light. Even though his old office had no windows, he always had his desk lamp on to allow for some light. Seymour was a man who considered atmosphere very important. The small cave network was outfitted with several touches that reminded him of home. The floors were lined with rugs, and paintings even hung from the stone walls. Frosted lights also lined the walls, providing just the right amount of light to be comfortable. Plants also dotted the cave to add some color contrast to its bleakness. It was nothing close to Seymour's preferences, but given the circumstances, he was satisfied.

The room he was now in was his also new office. He had wanted a view of the scenery, since his prior office did not have one. His advisors had objected to his office being in here, however, over the concern that he could be assassinated easily through the window that he demanded be installed. Seymour would hear none of it, and pointed out that he wouldn't need to worry about anything of the sort if "you did the jobs you're paid for." And that was the end of that discussion.

"Sir, do you have a moment?"

Seymour was jarred from his musings by one of his aides (this seemed to be an ever more common occurrence in recent days), who had appeared at the entrance to Seymour's office. The former mayor was once again thrust back into the world of his grand plans for the betterment of Spira. As predicted, the rest of the world had reacted with cries of condemnation, pledges to defend the Al Bhed and vows to find and kill him. Even his own city was expressing extreme hesitance and resilience to his plans. This, more than anything, was what bothered Seymour. He had indeed expected huge amounts of resistance from all corners of the world, but not nearly as much resistance as SINN was describing. And not nearly as much described by his own men scattered throughout Spira.

"I doubt I have a choice." Seymour's cold voice came from the chair in which he was sitting. "Enter." The aide did so. "What is it?"

"Sir, I just wanted to make sure you're aware of the DASC's meeting," the aide responded tentatively. "It started ten minutes ago."

"Is that all?"

Seymour rose from his chair to pour himself another drink. He offered one to the aide, who refused and moved further into the room. An uncomfortable silence settled in as Seymour remained motionless, leaning against the bookshelf where he kept his whiskey. He stared at his aide intently, obviously waiting for more.

"They're deciding when to start the investigation," the aide continued nervously. "Er . . . we expect it to be very soon, sir, within the next two days or so."

"I'm sure that whatever incriminating evidence remains will be eliminated by that time," Seymour said shortly. "This is of no concern to me."

The aide boldly took a step forward, obviously not done. "Sir . . . if I may say so, we haven't been getting the support we expected from the city of Bevelle," he pressed. "This was certainly evident when Tromell voted with the DASC to investigate your dealings as the mayor of Bevelle." He gulped. "So, I guess my question is . . . with your support base already small and rapidly diminishing, what is this going to do to your plans?"

Seymour studied his aide intently, slowly rotating his half-filled glass in his hand. However, instead of getting furious, he simply chuckled. His laughter was high-pitched and sounded more feminine than evil, but none voice this fact. After he finished having his own little joke, Seymour tossed the remaining contents of the glass down his throat and refilled the glass. Another small chuckle elicited from his mouth and he shook his head, staring at the brown liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass. All this time, his aide continued to watch him apprehensively.

"My plans will continue . . ." Seymour trailed off. ". . . as planned." He smiled.

This obviously was not what the aide expected or wanted to hear. "But–"

"We've got to improvise if something doesn't work in our favor," Seymour continued. "Nothing goes exactly to plan. I know that and have prepared for that. You know that as well, I'm sure."

"Certainly sir, but all the same–"

Seymour silenced him with a glare and a raised hand before speaking again. "Did you see the sunset tonight?"

"W-what?" The aide quickly went from looking exasperated to perplexed. "No. No, I didn't, but I don't understand—"

Seymour sighed before once again shifting the direction of the conversation. "You're afraid of me, aren't you? You think I'm an evil man, and that I'll kill you for questioning me." The aide did not answer, so Seymour continued. "It's all right. Whatever you may think of me, however much you hate or fear me, I will not harm you. You are a child of Yevon, just as I am. Yevon's children do not harm each other; that is written in the Holy Word."

The aide slowly nodded, still looking confused. "Okay then," he replied, dragging out 'o' in 'okay.'

"Now, to answer your question. I did indeed think that I had more support within my own city," Seymour acknowledged, voice growing so soft the aide could barely hear him. "The fact that so many have spoken on behalf of the Al Bhed is saddening." He swallowed his drink before continuing. "But then, I saw the sunset tonight . . . and was reminded that no matter what may happen here on this little planet, Yevon will always be smiling down upon me. It . . . truly was a thing of beauty, that sunset," he finished dreamily.

"Oh. Well . . . that's good then, I guess," the aide replied hesitantly.

"There are still those that do support me here, though," Seymour replied, instantaneously snapping out of his reverie and crossing the room, sitting back down in his chair after pouring himself another drink. "And it is with them that I place my faith. That will be all for now."

"Uh, sir, one of your men inside the government has sent you these images," the aide said, ignoring Seymour and setting a CD on the desk across from the doorway. "You might consider looking at them."

"I'll take that under advisement, thank you," he replied. "Now, leave me."

It wasn't until the disk of the sun completely disappeared over the horizon ten minutes later that Seymour got up again from his chair and went over to the desk. A laptop was set up on it. The LCD screen flashed to life as he booted up the computer and inserted the CD he was given. His settings loaded, displaying his desktop wallpaper, which turned out to be a photo of the Mayor Tower that he took himself many years ago. When the computer was ready, he inserted the CD he was given and pushed 'play' on his media program.

The CD contained a four-minute video, made by a combination of still pictures and clips that lasted for only a few seconds. The images flashed mercilessly in Seymour's face and he could tell that the reports were not exaggerated. He could see a figure of himself being burned in effigy. Anti-Al-Bhed graffiti was splashed across the wall of a burning store. Three people engaged in a bloody fistfight– no, one of them had a knife. That would explain the blood droplets that flew through the air. Chanting, fighting, screaming, signs, the sound of glass shattering, the dull thud of billy clubs, the crackling of fire, crying children, cursing and much more bombarded Seymour's eyes and ears during the four-minute clip.

When it was over, he sat motionlessly for at least five minutes, frozen in place by the sobering images. When his mind ran through the clip, it would go back to the beginning and play it again. The images and the sounds did not leave his head. How could they? Those people out there were his own. Not heathens like the Al Bhed, but good people who believed in Yevon. And now they were fighting, even killing each other. Was it because of him? . . . No. It was the Al Bhed, he decided. It had to be. They were the ones dividing his people, not him.

He had known that regardless of the effects of his leaving Bevelle, his plans would have to continue. There could be no turning back.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 78th St.; Apartment 202.  
19:09.  
Friday, December 6. _

Tidus barged through the door to his apartment, barely slowing down to breathe as he ascended the steps three at a time. He and Yuna were finally going to go on their night out, something they had originally planned to do two weeks ago. Yuna had said that she wanted to surprise him tonight. Despite his objections, this included her arranging to pick him up at his house at nine. She did not tell him where she was taking him to eat, nor did she say what kind of food it was. Tidus was a little wary, but otherwise he was fine with it, as he would still get to talk to Yuna. He just would have preferred to drive so that he could show off 'his' corvette.

It was only after he got out of the shower fifteen minutes later, freshened up with a splash of cologne and changed into his best jeans, T-shirt and sweatshirt that he noticed a piece of paper on the table with Auron's neat handwriting scrawled on it. He pulled it toward himself, noticing that it was dated two days ago. Part of him didn't really care what it said. He was still kicking himself for that conversation he'd had with Auron in the hospital. After their talk, Tidus had written himself off as weak and blamed the medicine for even getting him to listen to his old man. However, Auron still acted like something had changed. Before, Auron never left notes when he would be gone for a long time. Now, for some reason, he had started leaving them. In a way, it irritated Tidus that Auron was acting so different for no reason, but on the other hand, it was kinda cool.

_Tidus, I have left on business. I wish I could tell you when I will be back, but I do not know. You know the drill. Mind the apartment for me and don't trash it. You know the consequences otherwise. I'll see you when I see you._

~ Auron

Then again, some things never changed.

_P.S. Good luck. Use this wisely. _

He lifted the note to find 100 gil underneath, grinning when he saw it. Auron had either bothered reading his own calendar or was telepathic. Either way, it didn't matter to Tidus; he still had 100 gil. He took out his wallet (attached by a chain to one of the belt loops on his jeans) and inserted the money just as a knock on the door sounded. Tidus closed and pocketed his wallet and bounded toward the door to open it.

Maybe the old man wasn't such an ass after all.

"Hey, Yu-na . . ." he said as he opened the door, stuttering on the last syllable.

Yuna had gone all-out for this. Despite the fact that it was extremely cold out, Tidus saw her wearing a knee-length brown dress that was see-through at the midriff, just the right balance between charming and sensual. She had worked her chocolate-colored hair into a tight bun and held it in place with a shiny, ornate hairpin. Her face had just enough makeup applied to accentuate her features– a small amount of blush and eyeliner and a light coating of pale red lipstick. She wore high heels and gloves that matched the color of her dress. A brown shawl was draped across her right arm as well. To Tidus's delight, her breasts were also exposed slightly, their size easily discernable in the dress.

In the time it took him to absorb all this, she had hurried in unabashedly and made a beeline for the radiator. "Close that door, it's freezing out there!" she said, her teeth chattering.

Tidus obeyed, still looking her over. "Didn't you bring a jacket or somethin'?"

"Just this," Yuna said, holding up the shawl. "I didn't count on it being **that** cold out."

Tidus could certainly tell that it was cold by looking at her chest. "I have a sweatshirt if you want to borrow one," he said casually, jerking his thumb toward the stairs. Yuna shook her head no. "You look . . . really nice, you know?"

She grinned. "Thank you," she said. "You don't look too bad yourself."

"Come on," Tidus muttered, looking over his frayed blue jeans, worn shoes, old sweatshirt and Abes cap. All the same, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "I look like shit compared to you."

"I don't think so," Yuna countered. She motioned to the door, and Tidus opened it for her. "Thank you," she said, mocking a voice of high society. "No, really. I can't picture you in anything formal. I think you look better like that."

"Uh, thanks . . . I think," Tidus muttered, locking the door behind him as he stood on the front stoop.

She laughed as she descended the front steps to the apartment. Tidus noticed that she seemed in an oddly good mood. This didn't really bother him, but in the few times he had seen her, she was never this happy. It made him slightly uneasy as to how to behave around her. Yuna was the only girl that he had ever felt uneasy around in his life. It was a foreign feeling and one that rang unpleasantly in his gut. But by now, he was beginning to accept the fact that he truly liked Yuna for more than her looks. After all, in addition to being quite beautiful, she had helped save his life in the stadium, along with her cousin and his buddy Wakka. He owed his life to them. But especially . . . her.

Eh, whatever. Just roll with it.

"Aren't you going to tell me where the hell we're going yet?" Tidus asked her as he trotted down the stairs, now sounding much more like himself.

"Nope," Yuna said airily. "You'll just have to wait and see. Come on, get in." She indicated the Mercedes Benz.

"Nice car," he said, whistling through his teeth. "But my Corvette's better."

"It's not yours," Yuna said, laughing as she got into the driver's side. "You lie!"

"How do you know?" Tidus shouted, joining her in the car and laughing as well.

"Because, Tidus, I talked with Auron while you were in the hospital. He told me about how you always tell your girlfriends about 'your' corvette."

Fucking Auron.

Tidus looked embarrassed. "Well . . . yeah. But I still drive it anyway."

Yuna laughed harder this time as she started driving. "It's okay. There are other ways to impress a girl, you know."

"Huh?" Tidus asked, looking at her curiously.

She looked at him and flashed him a grin. "Don't worry about it."

Tidus snorted in amusement before turning to stare out the window. The car smelled of Yuna's subtle lavender perfume. It was a soothing smell, and this, coupled with the warm and inviting feeling of the heat blasting from the car's vents, might have been enough to drag Tidus to sleep. However, his nerves were returning again. They seemed to come in waves. They would creep back into his thoughts for a bit before being replaced by something close to contentment as his mind wandered. Then the nerves would return, repeating a very unpleasant cycle. Tidus could not remember being this nervous since he was a young kid and his father would make his surprise returns home, often drunk. But then again, those were different types of nerves from the ones he felt now. The silence between him and Yuna only seemed to amplify his emotions, which were threatening to drive him insane.

"Music?"

Yuna's soft voice drifted through the silence. Tidus turned to face her, and she was looking at him questioningly (with occasional darts of her eyes to the road), her hand on the dial of the car's radio.

"Sure," Tidus said, happy for the distraction.

Yuna nodded and began fiddling with the dial until it came to rest on a rhythm and blues station. At this, Tidus looked at her incredulously, but she seemed not to notice. She was looking straight ahead and her fingers were drumming the steering wheel in tune to the song. Tidus also saw that she was mouthing the words, but not singing them.

"What the fuck is this?" he said, snickering and gesturing at the radio. "I meant **music**."

Yuna looked at him with mock indignation. "This **is** music!" she said. "I can even sing to this."

The car stopped for a red light. Instead of arguing, Tidus decided to sit back for the next minute or so and listen to Yuna as she began to sing along with the song. In Tidus's opinion, Yuna had a really good singing voice (he had certainly heard far, far worse), but it didn't make the music any better.

He voiced his thoughts. "You've got a pretty good voice," he remarked. "But the music still sucks."

Yuna rolled her eyes. "All right then, what would **you **like to listen to?" she asked, smirking.

"Rock or rap!" Tidus said, punching his fist into the air.

The light turned green, and Yuna slowly eased the car forward on the slick roads. "I can do rock, not rap," she replied, starting to fiddle with the radio dial again. "Rikku always tells me that rap is just crap without the 'c', and I must say I agree."

Tidus nodded, laughing. "Yeah, I've heard that one from Wakka all the time," he replied. "He still has a crush on your cousin. I think he was going to try and hook up with her tonight too."

Yuna smiled. "Mmhm," she agreed. "All right. Now that you have your rock station, **you're** gonna sing."

Tidus looked at her as though she were crazy. "Uh . . . no?" he replied, trying to sound firm but faltering at Yuna's gaze.

She burst out laughing. "Uh, yes," she said a few seconds later, still giggling. "Don't tell me that you don't sing along when you listen to rock by yourself."

"Well . . ." he started, in an attempt to come up with an excuse to answer Yuna's question. Instead, he blurted out, "How long 'till we're at the restaurant?"

Yuna laughed again. "Just long enough for me to hear you sing. Now go for it!" She looked at him quickly and seriously. "I promise I won't laugh."

"With how much ass I suck at singing, you will too," Tidus argued. "I'm not doing it."

"What happened to that tough guy I thought I picked up?" Yuna asked, feigning confusion. "I must've gone to the wrong house . . ."

Tidus glared at her. "Don't ever fucking insult my manliness," he snapped, pointing his index finger close to her face.

Yuna looked at him in shock for his sudden change in tone. She saw the corners of his mouth twitching, and she knew he was joking. Indeed, he began to laugh.

"You thought I was serious!" He said, guffawing. "Ha-ha! That's awesome!"

Yuna just shook her head, though she was smiling. "You're really something, you know that?" she replied. "Just sing, for Yevon's sake. You know this song, right?"

"Would 'no' be a good answer?" Tidus asked hopefully.

"No."

"Damn."

"Just sing! You and I are the only ones in the car, and I **promise** I won't laugh. I **promise.**"

Tidus let out a huge sigh and shook his head. "All right, whatever," he said resignedly. He paused before taking a deep breath and joining in the words to the song.

Yuna quickly cut him off by raising a hand in front of his face. "Okay, okay," she said loudly. "You're right. That is kind of bad."

Tidus threw up his hands in indignation. "See?" he shouted. "You didn't believe me and now I'm embarrassed."

Yuna laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said in a baby voice.

"Shut up," Tidus muttered, which made Yuna laugh even harder.

The next few minutes went by in silence. Slowly, the nervous feeling was creeping back into Tidus's gut. He stared at his hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. In the end, he settled for crossing his arms, tucking his hands in his armpits. His gaze shifted every now and then from the snow skimming the windshield to Yuna's face, locked in a small smile despite her focus on the road. Both the snow and Yuna were extremely calming, despite Yuna's somewhat unusual behavior.

"Hey, we're here," she said. "My favorite restaurant in town. I know the owners too; they're really nice people."

"Cool," Tidus said unenthusiastically, looking up from his lap. "Do they have good food?"

"The best," Yuna said.

"I bet they do," Tidus replied. "Looks expensive."

"Well, I'm . . . not exactly poor, Tidus," Yuna said quietly.

Five minutes later, after the valet took care of the Mercedes, a waiter had greeted the two and led them to a candle-lit table in the corner of the restaurant. Tidus could not stop looking around. The place was very atmospheric, the primary source of light coming from the sole candle that burned gently in the middle of the table. Otherwise, dimmed lights were embedded in the ceiling so that they could hardly be seen. The tablecloth was white, and their maroon napkins were folded in a neat triangle pattern. Wine glasses and crystal water glasses were in front of both Tidus and Yuna. Small bits of greenery surrounded the candlestick. Soft piano music played in the background, just barely audible over the voices of the other Diners.

Yuna glanced at him, an amused expression flickering across her face. He looked very uncomfortable and confused, and she could tell he wasn't used to feeling that way.

Tidus looked at the six different pieces of silverware in front of him. "What the hell do I need all these forks for?" he asked, picking one up and examining it.

"You start from the outside and work your way in," Yuna replied.

At that moment, their waiter appeared, dressed in a neatly-pressed suit. He was quite young and had a clean shave and short, spiked brown hair. His tie was purple with gold, curvy lines that made the tie stand out from the rest of the outfit. A large golden ring wrapped around his right ring finger, the same hand in which he clutched a pen. It was one of those pens that was sure to cost an insane amount of money.

"Hello," he said smoothly and pleasantly. "How are you two doing tonight? I'm Carl, and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you started with something to drink? Our wine list is right there on the table, and we have beer, water, all kinds of soda . . ."

"Pinot Noir, please," Yuna said.

"Uh . . . coke," Tidus muttered, still looking slightly confused.

"Alrighty then, I'll be right back with the drinks and we'll talk about getting you started on one of our entrees," Carl said before quickly bustling away.

"So, do you know that guy?" Tidus asked Yuna when Carl had left.

"I know everyone here," Yuna replied. "I'm what you might call a regular."

"Gotcha," Tidus said, now looking like he understood. He leaned across the table so he could whisper to her. "Okay, tell me something else. What in the Hell is Pinot Noir?"

"A really good type of wine," Yuna replied. "You should try it."

Tidus snorted. "Or not," he replied. "Auron drinks that shit sometimes. Once I tried it just 'cause I needed a drink."

"What kind was it?" Yuna asked.

Tidus shrugged. "All I know was that it was red, didn't have enough alcohol and tasted bad-nasty."

Yuna grinned. "I see," she said, nodding. "Well, shall we look at the menus?"

Tidus nodded and they picked them up. Yuna quickly decided what she wanted and put down her own menu. She looked up to see if Tidus had decided as well, and instead was greeted with a very humorous sight. Tidus bore a very befuddled expression behind his menu, and Yuna couldn't stop from silently giggling to herself. However, Tidus quickly noticed and looked up to see her watching him, her gloved hand over her mouth, trying her best and now failing to stifle her laughter.

"What?" Tidus asked innocently.

"You should have seen your face," she replied, still laughing. "You looked lost."

"This is too fancy!" Tidus said in somewhat of a whine, throwing down his menu. "Wanna know how I know that? 'Cause I can't fuckin' read this shit."

"Well then, instead of pouting, let me help you," Yuna said, grinning.

Tidus was about to defend his besieged pride, but then, his expression softened and he smiled too. "You get a real kick out of embarrassing me, don't you?" Yuna smiled again, but just shrugged. He shook his head. "I don't need your help. I know what I want."

Yuna's eyebrows rose. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Tidus picked up the menu and opened it before closing his eyes, his scrunched face making it pointedly clear that he couldn't see. Then, he raised his hand in the air, index finger brandished like a sword. Then, he pointed it down and jabbed it at his menu, letting it rest against the menu before opening his eyes and looking down.

"I want that!" he announced, showing Yuna what his finger landed on.

Yuna just laughed, shaking her head again. "I hope you're not a picky eater," she replied. "If you are, ordering something random at this place is not a good idea."

Tidus sat back in his chair and closed the menu again. "Hey. As long as it doesn't move, make noise or bite me, It's all good. And it can't smell like ass either," he added as an afterthought.

Yuna laughed again. She laughed for a good minute or so, and her laughter caused Tidus to start in on it as well. They didn't even really notice when the waiter returned with their drinks and promised to be right back to take their orders. Their laughter shook the table and the liquid in their newly-arrived drinks.

"Wow," Yuna said after their laughter subsided. "You're really funny. I haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Tidus smiled. "Thanks," he said softly, looking down at the tablecloth.

Tidus, naturally, had been told that he was funny by plenty of other girls. His sense of humor was part of his charm. It was one of the attributes that helped to get them in his bed. Besides, that type of stuff came naturally to him. To have good looks, be athletic and be funny went a very long way for Tidus. In truth, he didn't have to make any real effort to get hitched for a night; it was just the way he behaved. So, when girls told him that he was funny, he just nodded and shrugged. But with Yuna, it was different. When she said it, he knew it meant something to him.

Tidus was jolted out of his reverie by the vibration of his cell phone in his back pocket. "Shit, that scared me!" he said to nobody in particular, fishing for his phone.

"What? Oh Tidus! You're not supposed to have cell phones in here!" Yuna said, giggling.

"That's dumb," Tidus countered. "It was on vibrate! Nobody could hear it!" He flipped on the phone. "Yeah, Tidus."

"Dude, how ya doin', brudda?" Wakka's voice chimed in over the phone. It sounded tense.

"Aw man, I'm right in the middle of a date!" Tidus complained. "Your timing blows dude. So what do you want?"

Yuna had been trying to get Tidus's attention. When he finally looked up, she mouthed, 'I'll be in the restroom' at him before getting up, leaving Tidus to his conversation.

"Actually, that's kinda why I called you," Wakka said. "You're with Yuna, ya?"

"Yeah, I'm at this crazy-insane restaurant," Tidus replied. "There's, like, suits everywhere. And I can eat with three different forks! And Yuna wanted me to try some real fancy wine called . . . 'peanut nowhere,' or some shit."

"That's cool," was all Wakka said.

"Hey, ain't you with Rikku?" Tidus asked.

"That's why I called," Wakka replied. "She hasn't shown. I was wondering if Yuna knew where she was, ya?"

"Yuna's in the bathroom," Tidus said. "I'll ask her and call you back."

"Thanks man, I really appreciate this," Wakka said. Tidus flipped his cell phone shut.

A few minutes later, Yuna returned. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Wakka," Tidus said. "He wants to know if you know where Rikku is."

Yuna looked bewildered. "I . . . thought she was with him. That's weird." She trailed off for a second. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen her all day. It's not unusual or anything, but she usually calls me when she's gone like this . . ."

She trailed off again, a slightly puzzled and worried expression settling on her face. She nodded to herself and rummaged in her purse before pulling out her own phone. Tidus thought about playfully calling her a hypocrite about using phones in this restaurant, but decided against it. Perhaps under different circumstances . . . even Tidus had that much tact.

Yuna flipped the phone open and quickly dialed a number, which he assumed to be Rikku's cell. "It's ringing," she reported. Then, "Hello? This is Yuna, where . . . w-who? Oh . . . I see. Well then, I'll just try back later. . . . Thank you." She slowly closed the phone and handed it back to Tidus, an unsettled expression on her face.

"What's up?" Tidus asked, putting the phone back in his jeans pocket.

"She didn't answer the phone," Yuna replied. "Some other woman did. She said that Rikku was feeling ill and couldn't come to the phone, and she'd pass along the message that I called. She said she was 'a friend'." Then, Yuna's expression changed to one of airiness. "It's probably nothing. She's been gone for days at a time before. It's just that since Seymour . . . well, I worry about her is all."

"Yeah," Tidus replied sympathetically.

"Sorry about that," Yuna replied, now grinning. "I don't want to ruin our date. Where were we?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Highway 33.  
19:38.  
Friday, December 6. _

Rikku felt her body press hard against the door of the car as Paine made a very sharp left turn onto the next street. The black sports car's V6 engine roared as she slammed on the gas, going twenty miles over the speed limit despite the road conditions. They were on their way back to the hotel from the other side of the city, where Paine had "to take care of some business." Rikku did not want to even guess what that might have meant, but Paine had forced her to come with, even if it was just to wait in the car. Apparently, Paine was starting to get a little more cautious, as if sensing that Rikku was biding her time for an escape.

Rikku indeed was doing just that.

Her state of mental paralysis was gone. Shame and anger were coursing through the young Al Bhed's veins like a foul toxin, consuming every fiber of her physical and mental being. Shame for what happened in the alley, and her weakness. Shame for being so foolish by following Tony. Anger at Tony for violating her in the worst possible way. Anger at Paine for being so cold-hearted. And anger at herself for even considering suicide, when her life had barely even started. So, in order to escape this endless and hellish nightmare, Rikku knew, she had to get away from Paine as fast as she could.

But then what? She had asked herself that question many, many times. Paine, she could sense, was very tenacious in protecting her job as a contract killer. If Rikku escaped, Paine would be at risk of exposure. She would hunt her down and kill her, just as if somebody hired her to do so. Like she was poached game. Then again, by that same reasoning, Paine was going to kill her anyway. At least by making a run for it, Rikku reasoned, she had a small chance.

Paine had the radio going, and an eerie song featuring low bass and a hypnotic female vocalist that sounded almost like a soft wail gently greeted her ears. Rikku stared out the window at the passing sights. This was the rundown section of Zanarkand, as was evident by the flickering lights, bums and sex workers that dotted the sidewalk. A slight breeze was blowing, whipping snow off the roofs of the buildings so that it gently rained down on the passerby. They passed a camera shop, an office equipment repair store, a small pub, an auto body shop, and many abandoned businesses. The cars parked along the sidewalk and in the parking lots were all old. Many had windows taped with duct tape in addition to rusting paint and numerous dents. There was no sign of happiness, liveliness or pleasure. It looked like Hell.

To Rikku, it looked like paradise.

She glanced over at Paine, one hand gently clasping the stick shift of the car, the other on the wheel, her arm resting on the door handle. Her pale and expressionless face was set on the road, eyes unblinking as she drove. Soon, however, she felt Rikku staring at her, and she shot a quick glance at her before turning her attention back to the road. She braked sharply for a jaywalking pedestrian and cursed him under her breath. Rikku sighed and stared at her feet before turning back to look to her left, only this time at something else.

She glanced at the object, contemplating it. She had been contemplating it for a long time. That item would either save her life or end up killing her. She had a plan for escape, and she would need it in order for the plan to work. Slowly, she reached out and touched it, running her fingers along the smooth, cold metal of the handle. The shiny silver paint of Paine's gun shone briefly as the car passed a particularly bright streetlight. Rikku quickly drew her hand back upon touching the trigger of the gun as though it had bitten her. How many times had that gun been fired? How many people had it killed? There was no way for Rikku to know. Closing her eyes and sighing deeply, she wrapped her left hand around the handle and slowly lifted it up, examining it.

Paine once again looked over at her, at which time Rikku very hastily set the gun down in her lap and slowly tried to inch it back where Paine had left it. The assassin began to chuckle at her captor's fright, but said nothing and continued driving. Rikku, ignoring this reaction and emboldened by Paine's apparent indifference about the gun, picked it up again and lifted it close to her face, studying its contour and features. She wrapped her other hand around the silencer, which was still attached.

"Careful," Paine muttered. "That's loaded." Rikku just nodded.

A minute later, Rikku said, "Why are you letting me hold it? 'Cause I could kill you right now. I grew up in Home, you know, and I know how to use one."

Paine looked at her again, a small smile on her face. "I don't think you're the type to kill anybody."

This simple comment was enough to silence Rikku, for she had thought about killing Paine several times. It would be simple. With Paine dead, her nightmare would end. She was certain that she could get off on self-defense and that would be the end of that. However, she was going to do no such thing. By killing Paine, she became no different from her. She would rather die than live knowing she had killed somebody, however evil he or she was. Paine was right. She wasn't the type to kill anybody.

However, that wasn't part of her escape plan.

Suddenly, Rikku's cell phone rang, making both of them jump. Rikku had completely forgotten that it was in the car. Rikku snatched it up from the corner of the dashboard and examined the front to see who it was that was calling. It rang again. It was Yuna. As it rang for a third time, a tear escaped her eye. Help was right there, and Rikku could not have it without Paine killing her. Life had won yet another hand in this game of poker that it was playing with Rikku. She seemed to be betting her life and sanity more and more often as the hours passed.

"Hand it to me," Paine ordered. Rikku closed her eyes and obeyed, reluctantly handing her the phone. She flipped it open. "Yes?" she said. "Oh. She's unavailable. . . . Me? I'm just a friend of hers. She's feeling ill and can't talk right now. . . . I'll tell her that you called. Have a good night." She handed Rikku her phone, but only after she had removed the battery. "Here."

That hope was gone. It seemed as if there was none left. Nothing left but her one plan, which she hoped beyond hope would work to get her away from her 'friend', Paine.

The car that she was riding in was a sports car, with poor insulation and a thin metal frame. That was all Rikku needed. She could escape without ever harming Paine, assuming that she knew how to control a car. Slowly, she unscrewed the silencer from the gun and carefully rested it in her lap. Paine once again looked over at her, an expression of mild curiosity set on her face. Rikku stared hollowly back, softly and delicately fingering the gun. She glanced in the rearview mirror. This was a relatively quiet street, and there were no cars ahead or behind them.

Now.

Faster than she thought possible, and faster than Paine could react, she extended the gun to the floor, right where the right-front wheel was spinning, and fired the gun. She fired again. And again. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. The sound was earsplitting; she could almost feel her eardrums bending back as the concentrated sound waves collided with them. But she kept firing. BLAM. BLAM. BLAM. Her eyes were closed now and her head turned away from the gun, but she kept it pointed at the wheel well of the car. And she kept shooting.

She couldn't hear the sound of the tire popping, but she certainly could tell that it had done so. Before Paine could even react to Rikku's surprise move, the car had become exceedingly difficult to control. Rikku shrieked as the car began to act of its own accord, and the gun flew out of her hand, clattering to the floor, the magazine spent. Paine swerved all over the road, trying as hard as she could to bring the car under control. Even though the roads were graveled, the lack of traction had the car zigzagging and spinning cookies in the middle of the road. Rikku held on for dear life and Paine kept jerking the steering wheel in an effort to counteract the spin of the car. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the car stopped after jumping the sidewalk and plowing through a garbage can and two newspaper stands, finally coming to rest against a phone booth. Rikku had fired the first shot just ten seconds ago.

The silence that followed almost asphyxiated Rikku. She couldn't even hear the hiss of the engine over the deafening ringing in her ears caused by the gun blasts. Right above that was the sound of her own heartbeat, which was threatening to pound itself out of her throat. But none of that mattered. She threw off her seat belt and wrenched open the door, trying to take advantage of Paine's momentary disorientation in order to escape. Just as Rikku was about to fling herself out of the car however, she felt a cold hand firmly clasp her arm.

Rikku skidded on the icy sidewalk and slipped, her rear hitting the side of the car, which caused her to yelp. Before Rikku could try and wrench her arm out of Paine's grasp, the assassin had roughly pulled her back into the passenger seat. Paine reached over and picked the gun up off the floor, but did not point it at Rikku. Her facial expression alone was enough to keep the Al Bhed frozen in place. Paine pursed her lips when she was angry, and they were so scrunched together that Rikku could barely see them. Her cold eyes were flashing dangerously, and she looked absolutely furious.

"You wreck my car, and don't even have the decency to escape correctly." she said softly. Her voice sent a chill down Rikku's back. "You fucked up, Rikku. You really fucked up."

Paine let go of Rikku's arm, raising the gun and emptying it of its spent magazine. Rikku didn't dare move. Quickly, she picked up a full one from the armrest in between the two seats and shoved it into the gun's handle. The metal sliding against each other, followed by a metallic click, had Rikku wince. Before, she really did feel moments when she wouldn't have minded if Paine put an end to her suffering. Now, she was afraid of dying. She wanted to escape this nightmare in the hopes that she could overcome it. Now, it seemed, that was impossible.

Paine was going to kill her.

Or so she thought.

Paine gently set the loaded gun in the armrest and turned on the car's hazard lights. Rikku became confused and worried in addition to terrified. Was Paine going to kill her and then run, so that whoever pulled over to stop and help only saw Rikku's dead body splayed in the passenger seat? It didn't make sense. As she tried to figure out this move, Paine found the silencer and screwed it to the end of the gun. Obviously, Rikku reasoned, Paine had a different plan. Her terror returned.

Suddenly, a large truck pulled up next to them. The driver of the truck, a middle-aged man with a five o-clock shadow and a cigarette leaning out of his mouth hollered at them. "Need some help?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Paine replied.

"Not at all. I was just on my way to pick up my daughter from choir practice, but she can wait a few minutes. What can I do?"

"Well, for starters, I'd like to get my car off the sidewalk and into a parking spot," Paine said, gesturing with her hand to one of the parking spots parallel to the street.

"Yeah, okay, I can help you with that," the man replied, nodding as he took a long drag off his cigarette.

"The road flares are in the trunk. Would you mind getting them for me? I'll be right out, there's something here I need first."

"Sure thing," the man said, getting out of his car.

Rikku, feeling tense, watched as the man climbed out of his truck and made his way to the back of their sports car. Paine popped the trunk and opened her door, but didn't get out. She was looking in the rearview mirror. Rikku followed her gaze, looking in her own mirror. Then, she heard Paine get out of the car and shut the door. At this, Rikku looked her way, and saw her slowly walking to the back of the car. She said something briefly to the man, who had his upper body buried in the trunk of the car, searching for the flares. Rikku thought nothing of it and turned back to her own rearview mirror. But along the way, her eyes swept over the tray in between the two seats. The gun was missing. And quickly, it all fell into place.

"Run! She's got a gun! She's going to kill you!"

Rikku scrambled out of the car in a panic, racing around to the back, only to find Paine standing there motionlessly with the gun in her hand. The man lay half in the trunk, half on the street. He wasn't moving. She was too late.

"You're too late, Rikku. He's dead," Paine said softly, pushing the man's body into the trunk the rest of the way before slamming the door. She looked up at Rikku and jerked her head toward the man's truck, which was still running. "Get in."

Rikku began to hyperventilate. Tears were streaming down her face. "Why . . . why . . ." she trailed off. "Why did you have to kill him?"

Paine shook her head. "I didn't kill him. You did. Now, get in the truck."

"He . . . he had a daughter!" Rikku wailed. "A family! And you killed him! **You** killed him!"

"You're breaking my heart," Paine replied tonelessly. Rikku began to dart her head in both directions, as if looking for an escape route. In one swift motion, Paine leveled her gun at Rikku. "I wouldn't . . ."

Quickly, Paine eliminated the distance between them, crossing over to Rikku. She lowered her gun and put her arm around the shaking girl's shoulder, guiding her to the truck. Rikku looked up at her, her blurry eyes just barely registering Paine's cold expression. Even the arm around her shoulder seemed forced, as though Paine was pushing her more than comforting her. Indeed, that was what Paine was doing. They quickly circled the car to the passenger door of the truck, which Paine opened.

"Get in."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, that's why."

" . . . No. I won't get in the truck of a man you murdered."

"Whom **you** murdered, Rikku."

"You did! You had the gun!"

"You forced me to use it."

"What? Why? What are you talking about?"

"It's quite simple, really. If you hadn't shot up my car in your doomed attempt to get away from me, we would not be standing in the cold, you would not have to get in the truck, we would be at the hotel by now, and there would not be a dead man hanging out of the trunk of my car. When you pull shit like that, people die. When you screw with me, people die. People that didn't need to. So yes, Rikku, you **did **kill him. Not me."

Rikku slumped to the ground and curled herself into as compact a ball as she could, sobbing on the icy, rocky street. The way Paine had said and phrased what had happened was very convincing. She merely watched Rikku, who apparently did not want her to hear her crying, for she was trying her hardest to contain the sounds of her anguish. It was quite a rare, depressing sight – a girl sobbing uncontrollably on the ground, while another woman, indifferent as humanly possible, watched with a gun clutched in her right hand. In fact, an amused expression flickered over Paine's face before she became stoic again.

Rikku finally spoke. "You're evil. You know that?" She said, standing up, hiccupping.

"Evil?" Paine looked both confused and amused, as though they were playing a guessing game. "What's evil?"

Rikku looked up and stood up, hiccupping. "Y-you are," she said tremulously. "You killed an innocent man!"

Paine laughed, a low laugh that did not sound happy at all. It was a scornful laugh. "Really? Innocent? Yevon, where have I heard that before?" She trailed off sarcastically.

"He w-was just going to help us! He didn't do anything!"

Paine sneered at her. "Now, that's where you and I are different. Nobody's innocent. Not one single person on this godforsaken planet is innocent. Everybody's damned. Damned by fate, damned by other people, damned by their own pasts. Point to anybody who passes us on the street, and they're damned."

"How do you know?" Rikku shouted, getting right in Paine's face. "How do you know that man was damned?"

"How do you know he was innocent?" Paine countered. "You don't know a fucking thing about him. He could have been a wife-beater. He could have sexually abused his daughter. He could have been an Al Bhed hater. Yeah, that's right. What if you really got to know this man and you found out he was a supporter of Seymour? Would he still be innocent? Or would he just be written out of your nonexistent fantasy land of wonderful, harmless people like yourself?"

Rikku had backed off, but was shaking her head. She couldn't stop. "No, no, no, no, no . . ." she kept whispering.

Paine paid no attention. "I guarantee you, at any given moment, half a million people walk the streets of this city. You know none of them. Doctors, lawyers, druggies, teenagers, stay-at-home moms, tax collectors, tramps, barbers, pilots, bakers, stock brokers, janitors . . . but their careers don't matter. And of those half a million people, say that a third are part of a family. Another third are with spouses, significant others, whatever the fuck that means. Tens of thousands of children, thousands of homeless. You know none of them, not even their fucking names . . . they don't matter either. But they **must** be good people. Across town, there is a shooting. One of those 'good' people dies, right now. BANG!"

Paine chose this moment to fire a bullet into the window of her already-damaged car, the sudden action causing Rikku to yelp.

'Where the Hell are the police?'

"One of those people is dead, Rikku. Dead. Think anybody cares? No. Nobody except you. So, **you **cry for them." Rikku did not move. "Cry! Cry for all of them!" Paine fired the gun into the air. "Every!" She fired again. "Single!" Again. "One!" And again. When Rikku still didn't react, Paine smirked and nodded, lowering the gun. "There. You see? You're not crying. And that's okay. I expected it. Because if indeed one of those people does die, it makes no difference to you. You don't know who they are. You don't know what they look like. You have no emotional connection to them. You don't know a damn thing about them. But I off one man, who you also don't know a damn thing about, and you have a nervous breakdown? Because he **appears** to care? Because he **appears** to want to help us out of the kindness of his heart? Fucking spare me."

There was no way in Rikku's mind that she could respond. She just turned around and climbed in the truck, subconsciously wrinkling her nose at the smell of fresh cigarette smoke. She couldn't even register the sirens, just now beginning to blare in the distance. Paine's words had numbed her. For the first time, she knew just how wise Yuna had been when she said that they were both rather sheltered. Rikku did not know that it was possible for anyone as cruel as Paine to exist. For some reason, she had thought that people like her were hyped by the media and blown out of proportion in unrealistic thriller novels, or something like that. But reality had a sick sense of humor at times, and Rikku was certainly the butt of its joke right now.

Five minutes later, they pulled into the hotel parking lot. As they were getting out of the car, Rikku answered her question.

"You're evil," she whispered softly and sadly, a solitary tear jetting down her cheek, "because you think everyone else is evil."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.5 ~~~~~**

__  
Bikanel Archipelago, North Island One.  
22:51.  
Friday, December 6. _

Alarms. Smoke. Gunfire. Shouting. Flashing red lights. Auron saw and heard it all as he ducked behind a huge breaker box in one of the many tunnels of Seymour's cave network. He had decided to employ a risky technique that was rarely used, to intentionally allow himself to be discovered in order to panic the enemy and flush him out. The cave network was too dangerous to navigate once he had Seymour, for his people would certainly come at him endlessly in order to free their boss.

The maps that Auron had taken from Home told him almost everything he needed to know to perform this mission, and were instrumental in defining his strategy. Once Auron had been seen, he would cause as much Hell as possible, all the while retreating to the entrance of the cave network. Seymour would employ his crude escape plan. In the bottom-right corner of the huge window in his office, there was a section of it that slid open. He would grab the rope that was hanging there and use it to descend the cliff in order to escape. Then, Auron would take him by surprise as he tried to escape the island. The only problem was that the amount of time Auron had to get out of the cave, round the cliff and get to Seymour before he managed to get away was very limited.

The exit was just ahead. Seymour's henchmen rushed past him, all screaming orders at each other. They did not see Auron. As they passed, they heard an explosion further up the tunnel, in the opposite direction of the exit. Auron's remote bomb had detonated, and the troops quickly turned around and headed in that direction. One of them stupidly fired their gun, so that all the other troops, as well as Auron, were forced to crouch low to the ground for fear of ricocheting bullets. Once they had past him, Auron quickly emerged from behind the breaker box and ran in a full-sprint down the tunnel. He pulled a smoke bomb off his belt as he ran, pulled the pin, and dropped it behind him. That was his last one. Right as he rounded the last corner, it exploded. Auron could hear more shouting, even above the ear-piercing alarm.

Auron could hear footsteps pounding behind him. He pulled his Beretta from its holster before quickly stopping, turning around, ducking to the ground and firing. Two men emerged from the smoke and hit the ground. They were wounded, not dead, which is the way Auron wanted it. Not only did he not like killing people, but they would be alive to give information. He got up and put his gun back before continuing to run down the passage. The exit was a hundred feet in front of him. He did not slow down at all as he burst out into the night. He did not stop to think about the pleasant night air hitting his face or the soothing sound of the ocean waves. He did not stop to think about the palm trees, waving gently against a brilliant, starry sky. No, Auron turned slightly to the right and made a beeline to the beach shore of the island. He knew that's how Seymour would escape– by sea.

Since the island was very small and the caves were relatively close to the ocean, it did not take long for Auron to reach the rocky sands of the beach. Paralleling the shoreline, he continued to run, although he was fast running out of breath. Even five years ago, Auron would have had no problem with this. But he was in his forties now, and not as agile as he once was. However, the adrenaline still pumped through the old man's veins. He was less than a half-mile from Seymour. Just a half-mile. Three minutes at most. He would not let that man escape.

After covering some more distance, Auron slowed down substantially. He saw the lights of a small boat, docked a couple hundred feet out to sea, in an alcove that protected it from the tide. Quickly, he slowed down to a walk and donned his night-vision goggles. He quickly scanned the area. He could not see Seymour. Switching to thermal vision, he scanned again. The boat glowed brightly because of the engine, and he could see two moving specks on board. Quickly, he swept his goggles to the right. He could just barely see a bobbing dot of heat. After observing the dot some more, he could see that it was Seymour, coming down the shore, and accompanied by two escorts.

This was the time to kill.

Auron had been outfitted with one additional item for this mission, should the violence move out of the cave. Choosing his first targets, he moved his shoulder so that the strap on his suppressed Heckler and Koch PSG1 sniper rifle glided gently down his arm. He crouched down so that the long barrel and suppressor on the gun were resting against a rock and quickly raised it to his one good eye. As he was still using thermal vision to see, it did not take him long to focus the scope so that he was clearly targeting the head of one of the men on board the boat. Not hesitating, he squeezed the trigger, hearing the soft _pshhew_ of the bullet. He saw his target disappear, dropping to the floor. Quickly, he reloaded the gun and turned it to the second dot, which had begun moving erratically. This would ordinarily make it harder, but Auron was skilled enough to take advantage of split-second mistakes. As the second man very briefly stood still, Auron shot him dead as well.

Auron sighed as he shifted the scope so that he was fixated on Seymour and his men. The SIA agent never liked killing people. They were human just like he was. They might have even just been following orders, unaware of Seymour's true nature. In a way, any one of his men could be totally innocent. However, Auron was also smart enough to put things in retrospect. If Seymour got away, hundreds more could be attacked and killed. Auron only had to kill four, two of which had already been taken care of. So, focusing the scope, he put those thoughts aside and zeroed in on Seymour and his two aides.

Due to the fact that Seymour was still a little ways from the wharf and Auron was using a silenced sniper rifle, Seymour was unaware that the crew of his getaway boat was already dead. Seymour's escorts would be a little tougher. However, Auron had a simple plan for them too. He watched as Seymour and his escorts approached the harbor, completely oblivious that they were falling into a trap. A minute later, they had started down the wharf. Auron waited until they were just over halfway down before taking aim and shooting down the one on Seymour's left.

As expected, the two men panicked and brandished weapons. Seymour's other escort fired erratically in front of him. Even though Auron was a good hundred feet from where he was firing, he ducked behind the rock all the same. When the gunfire ceased, Auron peeked over the rock to see Seymour sprinting back up the dock. Quickly, Auron took care of the second escort, who was stupidly standing still in one spot, trying to scout out the sniper. The men were taken care of. Seymour, however, had made it back to the shore and was running back in the direction he had come from.

It was now or never.

Auron abandoned his sniper position and, leaving the gun behind, got up and ran after him. As he ran, he tightened the strap around his night-vision goggles so that they would not come loose. He could just make out Seymour, maybe three hundred feet ahead. He had to catch up. There were natural caves on the island as well, in the direction that Seymour was running. If he made it there in too much time before Auron, the SIA would lose him, possibly forever. That was unacceptable, not only to Kinoc, the SIA, the DASC and indeed most of Spira, but to Auron as well. Aside from Kinoc's wishes that he be caught, Auron had a personal motive. Seymour might be able to answer some questions regarding the stadium attacks, even if he wasn't involved with them. And whoever was responsible for those attacks had almost killed Tidus, the kid he was sworn to protect. He would not allow that to happen.

He sped up, running as fast as he could despite the jagged ground. As he ran, he found himself wishing that he were more in shape. Auron worked out with some regularity back in Zanarkand, for it was another way to pass the time. Plus, he liked the feeling of being fit. However, this was certainly not his prime. In his earlier days, he had been much more agile than he was now. Perhaps it was age. Even though the forties were still considered relatively young, for an SIA agent with Auron's job description, even 35 was old. Many didn't even live that long.

However, Auron seemed to catch a lucky break. Seymour was still making a beeline for the caves, but he had slowed down considerably. If he was injured, that would be an even bigger bonus, for a debilitation like that would make him all the more easier to apprehend. Auron also slowed down, but out of necessity. He was running out of breath, and he wanted to conserve some energy in case he needed it. Auron always planned for the unexpected, especially on missions. He never knew when he might need to do something fast and in a pinch.

Seymour was only sixty feet or so in front of Auron when he disappeared into a crevasse that signaled the start of the caves. Auron knew nothing about the layout of the island's caves except for Seymour's manmade ones. Seymour, no doubt, did. Auron mentally took note of this as he slowed to a walk and drew his silenced Beretta. Shooting a weapon in here was akin to betting your life on a roulette wheel, but it was better to have it ready than not. All the same, he sincerely hoped that he would be able to take Seymour by surprise rather than engage in a shootout with him.

Kinoc definitely would have come in handy in these caves. However, the SIA director did not want to chance any communication with Auron for this mission. There was every possibility that Seymour would have men tapped into every possible communication frequency. So, Auron was forced to go this entire mission alone, but Auron didn't mind too much. More than anything, Kinoc could be a distraction, especially when he would relay unimportant information. Since it was just him, Auron was free to perform at his own whim, and take his own risks.

Scanning the crevasse, Auron saw only the green of his night-vision as he slowly entered. The caves were not an elaborate network of tunnels as he had anticipated. Rather, it was more like a huge room, with huge rocky pillars and walls, no doubt forged by the rising and falling of the tide. The entire room was roughly equivalent to the diameter of a sphere pool. He could hear the roar of the ocean not too far off, as he was still close to the shore. A small saltwater waterway ran through the middle of the room, small enough that, with a running jump, Auron could clear it. It flowed from the sea inward and surged whenever a wave would crash against the shore.

Auron reached a corner and pressed his back against the rock, taking a quick glance around the corner to make sure Seymour wouldn't jump him. Once he confirmed that the coast was clear, he moved forward once again.

_ BLAM! BLAM!_

Auron immediately slammed himself against the rocky ground, looking up to see where the two shots had come from. He saw movement right in front of him, about a hundred feet away. Seymour had emerged from behind a pillar and taken two shots at him. Thankfully, Seymour was a bad shot and had missed both, but the ricochet still sent Auron sprawling. Once the din of the bullets ceased, he got up and ran for cover behind the nearest pillar. Seymour did not fire at him. When Auron had secured himself behind some good cover, he looked again in the spot where Seymour had been. He was gone. Auron did not waste any time at all before rushing forward to the next spot, a large boulder. As he settled himself there and peered over it to look for Seymour, he heard something far worse than any gunshot: the sound of a motor.

Seymour had a second getaway.

Never had Auron felt such an adrenaline surge as he did right then. Not caring about cover anymore and relying purely on the speed he could get from the endorphin coursing through his blood, he whirled out from behind the boulder and ran a full sprint ahead, clearing the water stream by a good four feet with his leap. However, his landing wasn't as graceful, and he went sprawling to the ground, rolling a good eight feet before coming to a halt. Not even bothering to register the pain in the shoulder that he landed on, he lurched upward and continued with his sprint.

In another few seconds, he passed the rock wall that Seymour had been hiding behind. Now he could see it– a large private boat, one that might be seen at a tropical resort. It was protected from the tide by the caves, docked in what was essentially a nature-made harbor. He just barely registered Seymour going through a door on board the ship before two men emerged from the same door and took aim at him. To buy himself a second or two, Auron shot three times at the men, purely to stop them from doing the same to him. They ducked, and Auron ran forward, jamming his gun back into its holster. He saw a ladder on the right side of the ship, and he would use it to get on board the vessel. But first, he had to distract the two gunmen on board the ship. And for that, he had a plan.

Just as machine gun fire rattled from overhead, Auron took a huge breath and dove headfirst into the sea. He knew this would ruin his night-vision, but he had some time before that would happen. Acting quickly, he detached the one grenade he had been supplied with from his belt. Kicking to the surface, he pulled the pin and tossed it as far in front of him as he could (facing the same way as the bow of the boat). Before the men on board the yacht could take aim at him, he dove back under the water and swam as hard as he could to his right, underneath the boat and to its other side. As he surfaced again, he could hear the hiss of water droplets as they fell back into the sea, followed by the ear-splitting rattle of more gunfire. At the same time, the boat had started to move, and Auron quickly swam to it, grabbed the ladder and began to ascend.

It took all of five seconds for Auron to climb the ladder. His line of sight rose above the hull and he saw that the two shooters were still looking out in the direction of his grenade. He grabbed the strap on his night-vision and tore the goggles off his face before lobbing them in a high arc over the boat, to the right of the men, at the same time taking his Beretta back into his other hand. They saw the splash of the goggles and fired erratically in that direction, fooled once again. Auron hoisted himself over the wall and onto the deck, the noise of the guns making certain that he would not be heard. Wasting no time, he crept forward and stopped right behind the man on the left. The gunfire ceased, and he made his move. Spinning on his left foot, he delivered a forceful roundhouse kick to the man on the right, who with a scream, went flying into the sea. Auron had positioned himself so that when he came out of the kick, he would be facing the man directly in front of him who, before he could turn around, had been grabbed in a headlock.

"The longer you hold that weapon, the harder I squeeze," Auron growled into the man's ear. "Drop it."

To enforce his point, Auron had pressed the silencer of his pistol into the man's temple. His captive didn't hesitate. Just as the gun clattered to the floor, the door through which Seymour had disappeared opened again. Auron whirled around, taking the man with him in motion. Right then, Seymour fired three shots, but since the guard was in front of Auron, he took all three bullets. The guard instantaneously went limp. Auron, still holding the dead man by the neck, fired back at Seymour twice, who ducked back into the boat. Auron dropped the body and followed, entering Seymour's ship.

Auron scanned the room, a lounge area complete with exotic plants and well-placed tables and chairs. There was, however, no Seymour. And as there was no place to hide in this room, it was easy to determine that Seymour had further retreated into the ship. Auron crossed the room swiftly, and quietly began to descend the stairs. As he did so, he scanned ahead, noting that the entire bottom floor was a hallway with rooms branching off it, the doors to all the rooms closed. Another plan already began to form in his mind.

Seymour heard Auron's quiet footsteps from underneath the stairs where he was hiding. Silently praying to Yevon that his pursuer would not think to check for a hiding place there, he watched as the man finished walking down the stairs, and saw him point his gun ahead and to the sides. But Yevon was looking to be on his side after all, for the man did not point it behind him.

Seymour's gaze fell on the ground as he slowly hoisted himself up so that he was crouching. As quietly as possible, he checked his gun. Now was the time to take out that snooping bastard once and for all. He readied his gun and pointed out, ready to shoot the spy in the back of the head. However, to his horror, he looked up and realized that during the short time he had readied his assassination shot, the spy had disappeared from view. There was absolutely no sign of him. The hallway looked exactly as it had before. Seymour remained frozen in his position, the gun extended in front of him. He knew that the spy hadn't retreated back up the stairs; he would have heard that.

He crouched there in silence for another couple minutes, waiting the spy out, when suddenly, there was the sound of a silenced gunshot followed by a tremendous crash. Seymour snapped to attention, staring hard at the direction of the noise. It was in the second room on the left side of the hallway. Smirking, Seymour retreated from his hiding spot and approached the door. Waiting a second or two, he silently gripped the doorknob before flinging it open and seeing . . .

. . . absolutely nothing.

The room was devoid of any human life. However, there was a small pile of random stuff that had fallen to the floor in the far corner of the room. The room was well-lit, but the intruder was nowhere to be found.

"Where are you?" Seymour muttered to himself.

"Here."

Seymour whirled around in shock and horror, only to see the spy standing right behind him, gun leveled with his forehead.

"SIA." Auron did not register Seymour's eyes, which had widened in shock at hearing this. "Drop your gun and don't move. It's over."

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Alright, that sets the stage for chapter 13.

Anyway, a sneak peek at chapter 13, called The Enemy of the Enemy, and what will happen then:

(a) Lulu interrogates Seymour. Hell follows.  
(b) Auron meets with Kinoc on Bikanel Island.  
(c) Tidus and Yuna share a moment of intimacy.

And more.

And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

SirGecko


	13. The Enemy of My Enemy

Hello, everybody. Here be chapter thirteen, over 24 pages long.

I'm not entirely sure of the quality. Writer's block can make me very uncertain about things, and there are a few scenes in here I struggled with. It may or may not be obvious to you, but if it is, please don't hesitate to tell me so that I can make the chapter better. All told, I think this might be one of my weaker chapters.

Anyway, a good portion of the characters are in this chapter. We have Leblanc, Seymour, Lulu, Auron, Kinoc, Tidus, Yuna and Wakka. Yes, Kinoc is back. Paine and Rikku get a break, but they'll be back in chapter 14. And for a short chapter summary: as Seymour is being interrogated by Lulu, Auron meets face-to-face with Kinoc for the first time in years. Tidus and Yuna make an intimate promise. And Wakka's taken sort of a back seat throughout the entire story until now. Find out something about him you surely didn't know.

This chapter also will jump around a lot. Let me say again: A LOT. Attention to detail is going to become very important from here on out.

As per usual, the disclaimer and liability crap.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken.**

I think that does it. Have fun and enjoy chapter 13. After the wait, you've certainly earned it.

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**Chapter 13: The Enemy of My Enemy**

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__  
Zanarkand, SINN HQ.  
12:32.  
Saturday, December 7._

Viewers watching the SINN ticker at the bottom of the TV saw the following headline glide repeatedly across the screen:

BREAKING NEWS: Seymour Apprehended on Bikanel Archipelago, North Island One . . .

SINN had just received word of his capture mere minutes ago. The whole studio was ecstatic at the news; even Leblanc could not contain her excitement. Not only was this story cause for an up-welling of giddiness, but this was the biggest story she had broken in her life. Seymour had finally been found and captured. It had only been two weeks since the attacks, but for many citizens of Zanarkand, it seemed like forever. Leblanc had felt like she had been holding her breath for the last two weeks, and now, finally, she could finally breathe again.

It looked like another late night was in order.

"We are told by officials at the SIA that information is being released to the press on a need-to-know basis," Leblanc reported to the cameras fixated on her figure. She was trying her hardest to remain professional, despite the adrenaline rushing through her body. "So far, loves, we know very little. Right now, the story goes that SIA officials, in collaboration with DASC CCDP, managed to track the former mayor of the city of Bevelle to tiny North Island One, the island west of Bikanel. He was detained by the SIA at twenty-three-thirteen last night, on board a small boat which he used to attempt an escape.

"Information leaked by the SIA and Home's paper, the _Home Island Times,_ has confirmed that Seymour is currently being held at top-secret Cometia, the most famous prison in the world, a facility so secret that its location is protected by the SIA and by the DASC, two organizations often at odds with each other in recent months. The information also states that he will be held there until the DASC can convene to set a trial date and location. In the meantime, loves, we are told that, despite the severity of Seymour's crimes, he is being treated well in the custody of the Al Bhed whom he swore to destroy . . ."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
SIA HQ.  
12:34.  
Saturday, December 7._

"You're free to do what you will with him. Just buy me some time until I can take care of the issue . . . Don't you understand? That's the beauty of it! The Al Bhed are the most crooked motherfuckers in the world, and for once, we can use that to our advantage. . . . Yes. Hold him at Cometia; it's headed and controlled by the Al Bhed. Crooked people have crooked laws. Therefore, it shouldn't be hard to bypass all those rules of prisoner treatment that those fools in the DASC passed . . . yes, they know they're not to set a trial date or a location until Seymour cooperates. Depending on how well he does, that may or may not happen . . . we'll see, won't we?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Cometia Prison Facility, South Island Three.  
12:59.  
Saturday, December 7. _

The loudspeaker's robotic, repetitive voice bombarded his pounding ears.

_ You are guilty until proven innocent . . . you are guilty until proven innocent . . . you are guilty until proven innocent . . ._

The man spat blood onto the cold, concrete floor as he felt another blow rock his stomach.

"Wh . . . what are you doing to me?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Home, The Cat's Meow.  
18:26.  
Saturday, December 7. _

Auron appreciated irony. That is, he appreciated it except when said irony was unpleasant, and when it affected him. The club was much quieter than the last time he had been in here, quiet enough for Auron to busy himself with such thoughts. He shook his head, nearly overwhelmed by the thought that he had been in this very bar, on a mission, just two days before. It was as though he were looking at himself through a different pair of eyes. He had almost forgotten what it meant to just come to a bar and have a drink, even though he worked at such a bar, which was another irony. His days at the Blitz Bar and Grill seemed long ago and far away, another life he lived in a parallel universe.

He looked up, and saw that the waiter had arrived with his glass of sake and the bottle from which it came. "Rana ec ouin tnehg, cen," he said.

'Here is your drink, sir.' Auron understood Al Bhed, but could not speak it. "Thank you," he replied.

Auron picked up the drink and downed it in one gulp before pouring himself another. As he threw back the second glass, he glanced at the large neon clock that was hanging over the door. It was almost half-past six. He poured himself a third drink, but this time, he let it rest on the table, the liquid dancing in the glass momentarily. Auron still wore his sunglasses; all the neon signs and lights overwhelmed his eye. Bored, he sat there, watching the clock, not touching his third drink.

The instant the second hand touched the twelve and it became exactly six-thirty, the door to the club opened, and a short, bald man walked briskly in. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a heavy yellow T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, littered with holes. Filthy white tennis shoes covered his feet, and one of them squeaked whenever it touched the floor. The man walked a few paces into the room and scanned the place. Almost instantly, his eyes came to rest on Auron, and he quickly made his way over to where the man was sitting. When he arrived, the seated man rose and extended his hand.

"Nice disguise," Auron remarked flatly.

"Auron, good to see you," the man said, shaking Auron's hand firmly and quickly. "It's been a long time.**"**

Auron nodded, grabbing his glass and downing the third shot. "Yes it has, Kinoc. Yes it has."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Cometia Prison Facility.  
18:33.  
Saturday, December 7. _

The detention center loomed dark and ominous on the tiny island, a hollow fortress surrounded by high, electric fences and automated heat-seeking machine gun turrets. Its area spanned the equivalent of an entire city block; it was nestled against a cliff on the south wall so that the complex rarely got any sunlight. Towers rose at all four corners of the complex, lookouts posted to spot any escapees on sight. Guard dogs roamed the inside of the fence, vicious killing beasts who were just barely kept under control by the men who held their leashes. Cameras were everywhere, on every fence post and above every door. There were motion alarms down every hallway and on every door frame. There was no escaping the place. Cometia was a facility designed both to keep people out, and to keep them in.

As the sun set, casting the place in dark shadows, Lulu stepped off the SIA yacht which had taken her there from the mainland, hundreds of miles away. The whole island seemed to engulf her in a black hole, and she suddenly became chilly. Shivering, she held her arms close to her body and followed the guard up the rocky path. A growing pain began to develop in her right hand, and she looked down to see that the hand clutching her briefcase had become so clenched that her fingernails were digging into her palm. Letting out a slow sigh, she relaxed her hand. Seymour couldn't do anything to her. She would not be harmed.

Then there was the SIA. What could the SIA do to her? This horrifying thought suddenly crossed her mind. She remembered Kinoc's tone of voice when he had called her a few days ago. She knew he fully expected her to crack Seymour. He was that way. The jobs he wanted done the most were assigned to the best, people whom he had no doubts in to do their jobs. But what if said person was having doubts about her own abilities? What would the SIA do if Lulu couldn't get anything out of Seymour? She shook her head. Seymour was the least of her concerns.

"I'm doubting myself," Lulu muttered so that only she could hear herself speak. "I've never doubted myself before. Oh, Yevon . . . I think I've made a terrible mistake. What is wrong with me?"

The guard's voice suddenly startled Lulu back to reality. "This way, Miss Lulu," he said curtly, holding out his arm.

Lulu looked up, surprised to find out that during her musings, she had already been led into the facility. Cometia's hallways were freezing cold and made of dull gray concrete. She felt goose bumps rising on her arm, partly from the cold and partly from her nerves. She knew nothing about Cometia, since it was one of the most secret places in Spira. Before boarding the boat, she had to sign a very stiff official statement, saying that she would not reveal the prison's location once she left the island or else there would be "severe, swift and inescapable punishment by the DASC committee and the Spiran Intelligence Agency."

She came to a stop outside a heavy metal door, inset by a small rectangular window. The door was locked by keypad. Lulu discreetly took a glance at the escort as he punched in the combination, trying to see what it was, but he did it so fast that she could not catch the code. The lock clicked, and she was quickly ushered in. She found herself in a small rectangular room, void of anything except a table, chair and three other men. All three were dressed in dark gray suits, and all three wore sunglasses, despite how dark it was in the facility. Two of them stood behind the table, and the third was leaning against the back wall, arms folded.

Lulu took a huge gulp of air and let it out slowly. This was it.

"Rammu, Secc Lulu," the left man behind the table greeted, nodding stiffly.

"Hello Miss Lulu." The man on the back wall suddenly spoke. Lulu whipped around at the sound of the man's sharp voice.

"These men are from the Home branch of the SIA," her escort interjected. "They're here to oversee the interrogation."

"Oui ghuf fro ouina rana. Gehul dammc ic ouina dra pacd bancuh du lnylg Syoun Seymour. Fana du syga cina dryd rybbahc." The right man spoke in Al Bhed.

"You know why you're here. Kinoc tells us you're the best person to crack Mayor Seymour. We're to make sure that happens." Lulu nodded.

"Yna oui nayto?"

"Are you ready?" was the translation.

Lulu shook her head. "No, I'm not," she replied, saying the words she had wanted to for the last three days. "I'm an attorney, not an inquisitor. This isn't my job. It violates every intercity decree on prisoner treatment that's been drafted in the last two hundred years. I request that I be removed from the entire process."

She had said it. Her conscience had won. And to her surprise, it didn't feel bad at all. On the contrary, she felt as though a massive weight had been removed from her shoulders once she had said what needed saying.

This feeling was short-lived.

"Taheat," the man on the right side of the table said shortly.

"Denied."

Lulu's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"Ihtancdyht ruf dra ykahlo uv dra SIA fungc. Uhla ouina eh, ouina eh. Eh drec picehacc, dranac hu nadnaydehk uhla oui lussed ouincamv. Dra desa ryc lusa yht byccat vun oui du syga ib ouin seht nakyntehk dryd taleceuh."

Flustered, Lulu turned to the man on the back wall and snapped, "Translation?"

"Understand how the agency of the SIA works. Once you're in, you're in. In this business, there's no retreating once you commit yourself. The time has come and passed for you to make up your mind regarding that decision."

"You mean . . ." Lulu closed her eyes, feeling truly frightened now for the first time since she arrived on the island. "That I'm to remain here until Seymour confesses?"

"Or dies," her escort piped up. "But the Director would strongly prefer the former."

Slowly, she pulled the chair out from the table and sat, resting her head in her hands. She was trapped. There was no way out. She might as well have been a prisoner at Cometia along with Seymour. It was a frightening, yet accurate way of looking at her predicament. Quickly, though, realizing her show of weakness throughout this whole meeting, she regained her composure. A steely and blank expression to match those of the men in the room was framed in her face as she raised her head and met the gaze of the Al Bhed agents. She nodded.

"All right then," she said professionally, as though she were interviewing a client. "Let's get down to business."

Her escort nodded. "Welcome to the SIA, Lulu."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

After Lulu had been briefed and exited the room, the two Al Bhed agents turned to each other.

"Tu oui drehg cra femm pa ypma du tu ed?"

"Hu."

"E yknaa."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

_  
_Zanarkand, 78th St., Apartment 202.  
18:35.  
Saturday, December 7. _

Tidus and Yuna burst through the door to Tidus's apartment, both laughing hysterically. Tidus had insisted that they go to one of his favorite clubs over the weekend, and they had just returned. Both were slightly tipsy and very exhausted. The club had been packed with people, as it was a Saturday night, and teenagers and adults alike were letting loose all the steam that had been built up at work and school over the past couple of weeks. Both Tidus and Yuna had let it all out- two weeks' worth of tension, worry, confusion, anger, depression and nervousness as a result of the Stadium Attack, martial law, Seymour's declaration and Tidus's hospitalization. With Seymour's capture, celebrations were held all over the city.

That's not at all why they went.

They paused a minute in the tiny living room to regain their breath. Tidus, after shutting the door, leaned facing the wall, still chuckling. Yuna had sat on the arm of the couch and was also still giggling. Her skirt, a silk white one which had once been very prim, was now slightly wrinkled and disheveled. One of the straps of her blue spaghetti strap top had fallen off her shoulder, but she had ignored it. Her hair had slipped out of its bun and now hung around her shoulders. Tidus had unbuttoned his shirt, but now had closed it, since it was considerably colder in the apartment than in the club.

Tidus turned around so that he was facing Yuna and folded his arms over his chest. He watched with a lopsided grin as Yuna smiled at him before lifting a leg to unzip one of her boots. She carefully slid it off before turning her attention to the other. Tidus watched, seemingly mesmerized. Once both of her boots were off, she slowly moved her toes so that Tidus could hear a soft cracking sound. She sighed contentedly.

"That's better," she said. "I've been dying to do that for an hour."

Tidus smiled and walked over to take a seat on the couch. Yuna's gaze followed his movements, and she soon joined him on the couch as well. She sat facing Tidus, with her knees bent in front of her face and her skirt tucked in between them. Tidus was sprawled out, so that he almost took up an entire half of the couch by himself. It was a small couch, small enough that he could reach out and touch Yuna if he so desired. But he didn't; he just let his arms hug as much of the couch as he could.

"That . . . was awesome," Tidus stated, still sounding a bit out of breath.

"Yeah," Yuna said, nodding. Her hair shook slightly with her movement. "I had a lot of fun, Tidus."

"Rock-on," Tidus replied, nodding slowly and making a peace sign with his right hand. A small silence fell between them before sarcastically Tidus blurted, "Well, this is fun."

Yuna giggled. "It's more fun than being at home," she replied. "Work, work, work." This was followed by a huge sigh.

"Whatever!" Tidus said, looking at her. "You're loaded. You don't need to work with that much money, do you?"

Yuna shook her head. "I would trade you in a heartbeat," she said.

Tidus snorted. "You don't wanna trade me, let me tell you what," he said. "My life sucks."

Yuna shifted her position so that her legs were tucked underneath her and so that she was sitting on them before giving Tidus a perplexed look. Tidus countered with one of his own.

"Why?" Yuna said. "Tell me more. Why does your life suck?"

Tidus shrugged. "I dunno," he sighed. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Are you sure?" Yuna pressed gently. "Talking helps. I know."

Tidus sighed. "I don't really talk to anyone about my shit," he said. "I mean, I could talk to Wakka, but he doesn't need to know nothin'."

"You have me," Yuna replied softly.

She reached her hand out and rested it on his leg. It was a warm and gentle touch. Tidus looked at it in surprise and confusion before looking up at Yuna. She looked genuinely concerned, and she was staring intently into his dark blue eyes. Tidus quickly pulled his own gaze away and stared at Yuna's hand. His own hand twitched, as if instinctively remembering what the touch of a woman meant. Surprisingly, however, he held himself back. This was different.

He grew uncertain of himself and his situation once again, a feeling he seemed to be experiencing more and more often while he was in Yuna's company. The only time anybody ever touched him was during Blitzball when he was making contact with another player, when he was being punched in the arm by Wakka, or when he was having heated sex with some girl he had picked up. Nobody ever touched him for any other reason. The last time he experienced genuine affection was when he hugged his mother for the last time, more than twelve years ago. So now, having Yuna's hand resting on his knee was somewhat of a mixed blessing.

"Uh, well . . ." he started.

Yuna's hand did not move, and he could still feel her watching him intently. She must have sensed his discomfort, but she was being stubborn in her own right. She was not going to let this go.

"I'm so fucking pissed at Auron," he finally said.

"What about Auron?" Yuna asked gently.

"He's fucking gay!" Tidus snapped. "All he ever does is work at the bar, come home, sit in that chair and read his paper. He never even talks to me. And when he does talk to me, it's always to say some shit like, 'behave yourself, or you'll pay, motherfucker.'"

"Do you want him to talk to you more?" Yuna prodded.

"I dunno," Tidus muttered. "I just wish he'd fucking leave. That he'd let me do my own shit when I want to do it. I'm nineteen fucking years old, but he won't go away. He feels like he needs to keep some sort of 'promise' he had with my old man."

Yuna looked puzzled. "Promise?" She repeated.

"Yeah," Tidus muttered, setting his hands in his lap and staring at them. "Auron told me once that before my old man died, he made him promise to look after me." He hissed. "Yeah. When I was in the hospital a couple weeks ago, he tried to give me some goddamn sermon about 'looking at myself for the answer to life's problems', or some bullshit like that. As if that made my life any easier . . . but oh well. Auron's still better than my old man ever was." Yuna was silent, inviting Tidus to say more. "My old man was a real piece of shit. I don't even know why he had me. He loved my mom, not me."

"Where is she?"

"Dead. Car accident. Fucking drunk semi. Bam!"

He slapped his hands together before letting them rest in his lap again. He sighed heavily, and Yuna gently squeezed his leg, which reminded Tidus of its presence there. However, he was getting used to it now, and didn't feel as uncomfortable as he had before. In fact, he realized, telling his story was rather easy. Yuna was right. He was feeling a little better. So he continued.

"Anyway, she died in the hospital a few hours after she went there. Then Dad started drinking."

"That's ironic," Yuna remarked. "That he'd start using the same stuff that caused your mother's death."

"I blamed my old man," Tidus continued. "He and Mom had a big fight that night. They hardly fought at all. They were real tight with each other, y'know what I'm sayin'? But something about that night . . . I dunno. Anyway, Mom went for a drive to cool off. And that's when . . . yeah."

Yuna had an urge to ask what happened to the driver who had killed his mom, but quickly decided against it. "I see," was all Yuna quietly said. "I'm really sorry, Tidus." She scooted a little closer to him.

"Whatever, it's all good," Tidus muttered. "But yeah . . . my old man, he was . . . real attached to Mom. He was still a dick when she was alive, but he really lost it after she died."

"Maybe they had you because it was what she wanted," Yuna offered tentatively. "You know how moms are . . ."

He thought about this for a second. "Maybe," he shrugged. Then, he snorted. "Lotta fuckin' good that did me."

The silence that followed was heavy. Yuna removed her hand from Tidus's leg and used it to run through her hair before she intertwined her fingers in her lap. She stared at the wall facing the couch, as though deep in thought about something. Tidus watched her, her bicolor eyes fixated to a random point on his wall. He found that now, he missed her touch. He wanted that hand of hers back.

"I used to smoke cigs 'cause it helped me calm down when I got pissed. But I don't do that anymore," Tidus said randomly, in an attempt to break the silence.

"That's good," Yuna replied absently. Silence settled in once again before, "We don't have a lot in common, do we Tidus?"

"Uh . . . I dunno," Tidus said, sounding both confused and worried that she would say something negative. "I thought we got along okay."

"No no, you misunderstand. I'm not saying we didn't," Yuna said, finally turning her head to look at him again. She smiled softly. "I just find it so peculiar how you and I could even begin to get along. But we do. We get along so well." At this, her hand reached out and gently caressed Tidus's cheek. "It's our pain, Tidus. Without it, I wouldn't be here, in your apartment."

"Pain?" Tidus echoed, still confused, but considerably happier now that Yuna was touching him again.

"Yes," she replied, scooting closer to him. "Remember when we were in the school? And you invited me to your blitz game? Then you called and said we can really do something afterward? And then . . . the attack?"

"Yeah, I remember," Tidus said, catching on. "You saved my life."

"It's pain, Tidus," Yuna said, her voice now barely above a whisper. "You brought me an escape from my life. And I so worried about you when you were in the hospital. I know that you are a neat person. I thought you . . . I thought you could help me. Oh Yevon, that sounds so selfish, doesn't it?"

Tidus reached out for Yuna's hand. He grasped her hand and linked his fingers with hers before giving it a squeeze. She squeezed back.

"No," he said sincerely. "I'm glad I got to spend time with you. It was real fun. And you're not a spoiled bitch like most rich chicks."

Yuna laughed. "I'd like to think not," she chuckled. "Anyway . . . I wanted to thank you, Tidus."

Her expression serious again, she leaned forward and softly touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

_ "As you may or may not be aware, this prison facility is especially designed to have an adverse effect on the welfare of the human psyche. The best way to break Seymour is to essentially make him insane. Physical persuasion will only get you so far, and rarely does it work to full effect. All the same, you have free reign over this entire process. Use whatever tactics and methods you wish . . ."_

__  
Cometia Prison Facility.  
18:55.  
Saturday, December 7. _

Her orientation had been brief and disturbing. She had been told just how far she could go to get information from Seymour. There would be two guards in the room with her to 'assist' in the interrogation. Finally, she had been reminded, many times, that this job would be next to impossible. They had said that Seymour would indeed be very difficult to crack, proven by the fact that he had already been interrogated by prison personnel, with no luck at all in getting anything useful.

Despite its ever-present voice in her head, Lulu wasn't one to listen to her conscience when it came to matters of legal right or wrong. She represented the District of Zanarkand without passion or prejudice. Regardless of whom she came up against, regardless of whether or not she thought the defendant was innocent or guilty, she had a job to do. That was what she always told herself. Do the job. Feelings do not win ground in a courtroom. Only the law. But when you worked for the SIA . . . the fine lines between what she could and could not do disappeared. Her authority was limitless. When you did anything for Kinoc's SIA, there were no laws. There were no limitations. She reflected on this fact as she came to Seymour's interrogation room, pausing to quell her nerves.

What part of that logic was supposed to make sense?

She could not think about this. The more she analyzed what she would have to do, the stronger the desire became to turn tail and run away. The longer she stood in this hallway, facing this door, dreading what she would have to do, the less effective she would be. Already she was convincing herself that she wouldn't be able to get information from Seymour. And if **she** wasn't convinced, Seymour certainly wouldn't be. However, there was a force-of-mind trick she had learned back in law school for difficult cases: mentally shove all thoughts about a case from the mind and then plunge headfirst into it, before there was time for the mind to second-guess itself. Lulu closed her eyes, remembering her lessons. It was a form of meditation, in a sense.

It was just another case.

She stood there for another few seconds, and before she knew it, her eyes had snapped open and she had flung open the door, stepping into the room and coming face-to-face with Mayor Seymour.

It was any prosecutor's dream to be able to question a man in Seymour's position, being the one to hold total power over him when he once commanded the minds of so many others. The Zanarkand Supreme Court, however, was different from a typical Cometia interrogation room. The most notable contrast was Seymour himself. In court, he would be dressed in his finest, clean-shaven and respectable despite his atrocities. In here, all Lulu saw was a man tortured seemingly to a point already past his own insanity. Multiple fresh scabs and bruises littered his face. He had a split lip, a black eye and a large cut across his forehead, still bleeding courtesy of the large veins running down it. The room was dim, but Lulu could still sense him gazing at her with his one healthy and one swollen eye, a gaunt and crazed expression on his pale face. He still wore the same suit as the day he was captured, the expensive clothing now dirty, torn and stained by blood and sweat.

Seymour chuckled as he saw Lulu walk in, which immediately caused the guard to his right to give him a good punch to the gut. Seymour doubled over, coughing loudly, while Lulu watched expressionlessly. She looked up at the guards and waved them off with her hand, and they went to stand at the back of the room, behind Seymour. She slowly walked forward and sat down opposite the convict, waiting for him to regain his breath and look back at her. By now, she was fully focused, and had completely forgotten her prior insecurities.

It was amazing how nerves could stretch the human limitation.

"You know why I'm here," Lulu said seriously to Seymour, opening the file she had brought with her and staring hard at Seymour. "Isn't that correct?"

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "It's not going to get you anywhere. So I guess that means that I don't. Why **are** you here?"

"To save your life," Lulu said bluntly.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Home, The Cat's Meow.  
18:59.  
Saturday, December 7. _

"Can I buy you another drink?"

"No. Thank you. Al Bhed beer tastes like shit anyway."

"Fine, then. Excuse me for a moment."

The Director of the SIA watched as Auron rose from the tiny table in the corner of The Cat's Meow and made his way to the men's room. His best agent had been virtually mute ever since he had stepped through the door. There were few people in the world who could even begin to read Auron's moods, but Kinoc was one of those few. Something was on Auron's mind, something that was bothering him. But Kinoc wasn't too worried. Auron was also one who would voice his concerns if they were serious enough. He sat, a small smile on his face, sipping his beer despite how bad it tasted.

Auron quickly barged into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He took off his sunglasses and made his way over to the sinks. Squinting through the brightness, he turned on the water, cupping the faucet stream in his hand and tossing the liquid into his face. The icy water ran down his face and neck as he shed his black leather jacket and tore off his shirt, using it to mop himself. Turning off the water, he stared at his reflection. His chest, covered in hair, was also riddled with small scars from his younger days. His new battle wound, the jammed shoulder, was graced with purple and blue discoloration. Slowly, he massaged it as best he could, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as he tried to work out some of the pain. Quickly coming to the conclusion that he could do nothing, he gingerly put his shirt back on, knowing that he was not helping his shoulder any by moving his arm.

Auron went back to looking at his reflection. He shook his head, and his mirror image copied him. The face he saw was a tired one. Half an hour of small talk with someone he found to be most unpleasant certainly reflected in his features. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a ventilation duct. He looked up, remembering the mission he had performed in this club. Why Kinoc insisted on meeting him here, he would never know. It didn't really matter either. All Auron knew was that his desire to work for the SIA had now been diminished. For Auron to be back here, in this club, after he had just infiltrated it and obtained information to kidnap a criminal talked about on every news channel worldwide . . . no. He couldn't do it anymore.

Kinoc looked up as Auron returned to the table, sighing as he sat down. If it were possible, Auron looked even worse than when he had gotten up to go to the restroom. His one good eye drooped with exhaustion, and the uneven stubble on his face glistened where Auron had missed wiping it off. Perhaps it wasn't the right time to ask, but Kinoc just had to know.

"Auron, if you'd indulge me, I'd like to know how you did it," Kinoc said, staring hard at his friend.

The man looked up, unfazed and serious as ever. "Captured Seymour?" he asked.

"Yes, captured Seymour," Kinoc said, nodding and downing the last of his beer.

"Will a summary do?" Auron asked coolly.

Kinoc shook his head. "Come on, Auron, work with me here. You should be proud of yourself for what you've done."

"I'm not," Auron replied. "Pride is poor word choice. I'm not proud of anything I've done. I'm more at ease, but not proud."

"Call it what you want, the whole world is proud of you," Kinoc said.

Auron snorted. "Hmph," he grunted scornfully. "The world doesn't even know I did it, Kinoc. Which is the way I prefer it."

"All right, all right, but just tell me, as a favor to an old friend," Kinoc pressed.

Auron shook his head. "I've done you enough favors," he said icily. "It's time I collect on the debt you owe me."

Kinoc now looked exasperated, even angry. "Just tell me the goddamn story, Auron."

Auron sighed and glanced at his watch. He had been in this club for an hour. An hour too long, he thought. But Kinoc did make a promise, and if there was one thing he could give Kinoc credit for, it was for keeping promises. It was based on this that Auron poured himself his fourth and final drink, taking it down before clearing his throat and looking up at Kinoc, who was waiting patiently, albeit expectantly, for his reply. Silently, he weighed the options. There was no real reason for holding back on finer details except for the fact that he just didn't feel like telling the story. On the other hand, appeasing Kinoc might soften the blow of what he planned to do.

After another few seconds, Auron sighed and launched into the story. He started off with his landing and waiting on the island before infiltrating the cave network and eventually being discovered. He recounted the running to meet Seymour, and how he had easily sniped the crew of his getaway boat as well as his two escorts.

"Sounds pretty easy so far," Kinoc nodded, an impressed look having long since replaced the irritated one that was there before.

Auron shook his head, but chose to hold his reply. Instead, he continued with the story, telling of how he had discovered Seymour's second getaway.

"Oh shit," Kinoc said when he heard this, eyebrows raised, fully enveloped within Auron's retelling. "Continue."

"I used some diversionary tactics to make my way toward the boat and to board it. It-"

"Tactics such as?" Kinoc interrupted.

Auron scowled, disapproving of the interruption. He wanted to get this story out of the way quickly so that he could get to his own point. "Use your imagination," he snapped. "Anyway, he had two more men on board that ship. So, I distracted them and managed to kick one overboard. The other I grabbed in a headlock and used as a human shield when Seymour fired at me again. After he shot his own man, he retreated and I followed. He wasn't on the top floor, so I went down the staircase to the bottom floor. It was a hallway with a bunch of rooms branching off it.

"Seymour was hiding underneath the stairs. I knew he was there, even though he probably thought I didn't. I could hear him shift position, so I silently went into the first room out of the hallway before he could take a shot at me. There was a small window in there that opened up into the next room, so I opened the window and stuck my gun in there as far as I could and fired. The bullet hit a shelf, and the shelf broke and a bunch of glasses fell. The plan was that Seymour would think the shot came from that room, and not the one I was in. He was to think that I fired aimlessly at something, thinking it was him. It worked, and when he opened the door, I snuck out of the room I was in, came up behind him and took him right there."

Kinoc leaned back in his chair, a very impressed look on his face. He shook his head, watching as Auron finished his story and folded his arms. Auron eyed his boss, waiting for what his response would be. Right now, Kinoc was staring back at him blankly, as though he were listening to a boring retelling of a golf story. Then he smiled widely. For some reason, this irritated Auron, and he decided he didn't want to hear what his boss had to say.

As Kinoc opened his mouth to speak, Auron cut in. "Save your praise," he sighed, staring at his empty glass. "Officially, none of this ever happened. There's no praise to give."

Kinoc wanted to argue, but wisely decided that it would be of no use. "Take it how you want," he replied instead. "Now, what do **you** want, Auron?"

Auron looked up at his boss, not hesitating a second. "I want out. I've done what you wanted me to do, and now it's time for me to leave the SIA. For good." He paused before a small smirk crossed his face and he finished with, "Again."

Kinoc looked taken aback. "Auron, we're just getting started!" he countered. "There's so much more you can do."

"I can, but I won't," Auron said firmly. "We made a deal just now. I held up my side, and now it's time for you to do the same. I resign from the SIA, effective immediately."

Long gone were the feelings of awe and gratitude from Kinoc's face. Now, the man looked positively stressed and a bit more than annoyed. He couldn't help it. Auron was so stubborn; he wasn't going to give an inch. Kinoc could tell by the way he was behaving. In fact, while Kinoc was staring at him, he had even gone so far as to retrieve his sidearm, badge and rank bar, setting them on the table as far away from himself as possible. But what was most convincing was the paper that Auron pulled from the inside of his black leather jacket. It was a letter of resignation, already complete with his signature. Upon opening up the letter and reading it, Kinoc let out a huge sigh, bringing his bald head down to his hands. He quickly rubbed his eyes before lifting his gaze to Auron's resolute, grizzled face.

"Why?"

Auron looked ready for that question. "Are you sure you want the answer?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I didn't."

Auron sighed, leaning forward and pouring another shot of sake before taking it down and resting the small glass back on the cocktail napkin resting on the table. Auron stared intently at the glass as Kinoc waited. Kinoc could see that he was thinking hard about what he was going to say. Finally, the agent looked at his boss, staring hard at him, Kinoc matching his gaze. Even though Auron only had one eye, Kinoc couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. The scar running over his other eyelid didn't help either. Finally Auron looked away.

"That's why." He spoke facing away from Kinoc, staring at the wall as if he were uncomfortable.

Kinoc looked bewildered. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Auron turned back to his boss, his eye narrowed. "I look into your face. Into your eyes. And I see nothing." Kinoc rolled his eyes, but that did not faze Auron. "Only a void. Your face, your gaze, is empty." He paused to turn and face the wall again. "That disturbs me more than any mission ever could."

"For Yevon's fucking sake, Auron, you know me. You know what this job does to a man! Especially a man in my shoes. What the Hell do you want me to do? Send flowers to the families of everybody who is killed that is in some way involved with my agency?"

"I used to think exactly like you, Kinoc," Auron said. "I used to think that I could hide behind a world of secrets. I would tell myself that if my identity were erased, a world where I didn't exist wouldn't harm me." He shook his head bitterly. "I lost my way, and it took the death of my partner and best friend to realize it. You still haven't."

Auron began to rise, but Kinoc beat him to it. The man leapt from his small chair, face red. "Don't even think about quitting on me like this," he hissed. "Not for a bullshit reason like that. Because that's what it is, Auron. Fucking bullshit. And you know it. You want to know why you're quitting?" Without waiting for an answer, Kinoc plunged ahead. "Because you're old. And you're scared." He laughed derisively. "You're goddamn right you've lost it. And you're too fucking full of yourself to even admit it for the right reasons. Instead, you try to pin it on me and the fact that you don't 'trust' me anymore. You don't trust anybody, Auron! Not me, not your kid, not even yourself. You're old, cynical and paranoid. You're a wanderer, just like that pissant blitz star.

"But did I let that get in the way of taking you in? No. I believe in exceptional talent, and you have it. If you could just keep a fucking secret, the entire agency and all of Spira would benefit. But I guess that's not good enough for you. I guess I was wrong. Now, with the Auron I see standing in front of me, if a few people get killed, who were total cocksuckers to begin with, and you have to keep one big secret, you're ready to run away. My god, what in the **fuck** happened to you, Auron?"

The entire time that Kinoc had been ranting, Auron had just stood there motionless, staring at Kinoc straight in the eye. When Kinoc was through with him, the man looked visibly shaken. Only for a second. Even that was rare, for Auron was very, very adept at hiding his emotions. However, deep down, he knew that much of what the SIA Director said was absolutely true. And although Auron was rattled, he made no indication that he agreed with Kinoc. Instead, he slowly got up from the table and pulled a twenty from his pocket before haphazardly tossing it down next to the salt shaker. Kinoc, whose fury burned so intently that it immobilized him, simply watched as Auron retrieved his leather jacket from the back of his chair. Shrugging it on, quickly left the bar and hailed a taxi, but not before turning to his boss one final time and softly saying:

"Secrets are what kill people, sir. Not realizing that in time was the biggest mistake I ever made."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 78th St., Apartment 202.  
19:02.  
Saturday, December 7. _

Time had dissolved into infinity.

'Come on, Tidus. Kiss me back.'

'What are you doing?'

'Don't worry. Please . . . just kiss me.'

'Roll with it, okay, okay . . .'

'Thank you. Oh, this is wonderful.'

'This is messed up!'

'Ha-ha. I must be crazy. But I don't care.'

'Why are you doing this?'

'We can share our pain this way. It makes it bearable.'

'. . . You're a good kisser, Yuna.'

Yuna pulled away slowly and reality slowly materialized around them once again. Tidus knew that, despite what he was used to, it was not a lustful kiss. It was sensual, longing, and full of a myriad of different emotions. It was a sense of closure, a sign of something that meant much more than either of them could fully understand at this moment. It was a declaration used where words were inadequate to describe feelings. It wasn't love either, but more of a promise.

Yuna's eyes were shining as she withdrew from Tidus. Water had risen to them, and was threatening to trickle down her face. Tidus again looked shocked and confused. Of all the reactions he expected Yuna to have, it was not this.

"What's up?" he asked gently.

Yuna sighed shakily and shook her head. She wasn't quite sure what or how she was supposed to feel. She was happy, yet very confused at the same time. "I don't know," she replied. "I don't think anything is wrong. I think it's relief. It's taken me a long time to find you." She looked up at him with shining eyes. "You're my escape. And I can be yours, too. You know that right? We can help each other, right?"

Tidus nodded, a sincerity that he had rarely felt etched in his face. "Sure," he replied.

This time, he leaned forward, and once again their lips were locked in a kiss. It was more passionate than the last one, but still tender and gentle. Yuna's hands gently graced Tidus's face, and his were on her hips. She slid closer to him, so that she was virtually pressed against him. Her arms snaked their way around his neck. Tidus could feel a familiar arousal stirring in his core, and throughout Yuna's kiss, he tried to hold it back. For some reason, as much as he wanted to take Yuna, this didn't seem like the right time. Especially when their kiss was more one of necessity.

Yuna moaned through the kiss, parting soon after to trail some up his jaw. "I could do this all night," she breathed into his ear.

On the other hand . . .

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Cometia Prison Facility.  
23:44.  
Saturday, December 7. _

"Any luck?"

"Nothing yet, sir. She was in there with him for almost four hours, but we still couldn't get a single thing out of him."

Kinoc leaned against the wall and kneaded his temples with the tips of his index and middle fingers, as he always did when he was stressed. His vision blurred as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing to release the pressure of the stress threatening to overwhelm him. Lulu was sitting at the same table she had during her orientation, her stoic face hiding a fierce hurricane of troubled thoughts. Quickly she glanced at the two men standing to her right, the same who had oriented her. One of them met her gaze but quickly averted, and the other pretended or didn't notice that she was even there. A heavy silence fell among the four, broken only by what Lulu thought was the earsplitting racket of her own heartbeat.

She was afraid.

"Sir, I've gotten nowhere," she said, more to break the silence than anything else. "He has the Faith on his side. He's justified every damn thing he's done through divine will and prophecy."

Kinoc nodded. "I know. As long as he believes he will be rewarded in death, he probably sees no reason to tell us anything useful."

Lulu shook her head. "Actually sir, I do believe that he has information he wants to give. I don't know if it's because of the, er, harsh interrogation techniques, or if it's something else, but he has resisted the urge to talk."

"So why the fuck hasn't he?"

"Like I said, I can't tell you that sir," Lulu replied calmly after a few seconds. "I give you my word that I'm doing the best I can." Kinoc nodded his agreement.

Then, he sighed. "Well, give it one more try. If he doesn't talk then, we'll just have to kill him."

Lulu's eyebrows rose. "You're serious?" she asked, astonished.

Kinoc blinked at her. "Of course I'm serious, Lulu, you would know if I were joking," he said. "We've done this for years with prisoners. We just sell it to the media as a suicide in jail because he was too much of a coward to face just punishment. The public likes hearing that sort of thing."

Lulu put her face in her hands. "Sir, I . . ." she trailed off, letting out a huge sigh. Kinoc waited patiently for her to speak again. "I don't think I can go back in there."

This time, it was Kinoc's turn to be surprised. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

Lulu looked up at him. "Me," she replied. "That's what I've been trying to say. I haven't made any headway at all, and I want out."

Kinoc turned to the two men waiting motionlessly against the wall before saying, "Please leave us for a minute."

The nerves began to rise in Lulu's chest as she hadn't felt them in many, many years. As the men disappeared through the door, she gulped and exhaled as quietly as she could in order to calm herself. Even though the other men certainly didn't make her feel comfortable, she didn't want to be alone in the same room with Kinoc under any circumstances. The SIA director, who had been watching the two men exit, turned to her as the door shut. He walked over and sat across from her at the small table.

"I can't do that," was what he said upon sitting down. "You're a civilian recruited under special circumstances to undertake a top-secret task under the jurisdiction of the SIA. I cannot allow you to endanger this process by just upping and leaving."

Lulu felt a burst of impatience despite her nerves. "What, you'd throw me in jail?"

"Possibly," Kinoc said in a matter-of-fact manner. "As in, that's one possibility. As director of this agency, it's my duty to do whatever is necessary to protect its secrets. If that includes jailing somebody, then so be it."

Lulu said nothing for a few seconds as a wave of nausea crept over her at the word 'secrets.' "So what do I do?"

"You said he was close to cracking, right?"

"I never said that. I said it looked like he wanted to, but wasn't willing."

Kinoc sighed irritably. "Then he's close to cracking." Before Lulu could reply, he cut her off again. "All you have to do is figure out what's holding him back and then do whatever's necessary to strip that away. Whatever it takes, Lulu, short from personal harm. And harm is something we can guarantee won't come to you."

'That's not what I'm worried about,' Lulu thought morbidly.

She decided to try one last avenue, something she wouldn't have wanted to do three hours ago. "Can I cut him a deal?"

"A deal?" Kinoc uttered a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a cough.

"Yes, a deal," Lulu said. "If he confesses, I won't seek the Death Penalty during his trial."

Kinoc snorted. "We already established that he doesn't give a shit what happens to him," he countered. "Besides, we don't negotiate with terrorists. That would weaken the agency when dealing with future incidents."

"Well, how convenient for us," Lulu replied pointedly, irritation momentarily taking the place of her fear. "And for that reason I should make him scream?"

"He . . . doesn't have to scream," was the thoughtful reply. "I just want him to admit to his crimes and the motives behind them." Kinoc stood up. "All options are open. Do whatever it takes to get that confession."

She sighed yet again, staring motionlessly at the cold metal of the table she was sitting at before letting gravity bring her head down to the table's surface. The door opened and slammed shut behind her, signaling Kinoc's exit. A sudden overwhelming rush of exhaustion engulfed her, and she felt water welling up in her eyes. Muttering "no" to herself over and over again with increasing intensity, she shook off the anxiety, softly slapping herself in the face a few times for good measure. She had finally accepted that there was no way out of this. No way out except to plunge forward and hope she made it through to the other side.

"Whatever it takes. Yes sir."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

_ "The only way you can crack Seymour is to use your intellect. We could have easily beaten him to death without your help, but that's not what the Director wants. Use physical abuse only as punishment and to assert your authority. Otherwise, it's all about mind games. You'd be surprised by the reactions of patients driven to insanity, the information they're willing to give up just to make 'it' stop. Psychological warfare, more than physical harm, is what's going to get you places . . ."_

__  
Cometia Prison Facility.  
24:00.  
Sunday, December 8. _

Seymour jumped violently as he heard the door open, even beyond the spinning stupor that the drugs had him going in. About ten minutes ago, he had been given a hallucinogen with disorienting effects. However, the dose had been light enough to where Seymour could still be coherent enough to answer questions. There was momentary silence before a soft _click-clack_ of high heels slowly approached him. He could see none of this; the room was now blanketed in a thick darkness that made it impossible for Seymour to even see himself (had he not been blindfolded). However, he could still hear. Every sound he heard echoed, and the volume was magnified. The clicking shifted position, and seemed to be circling him. But for Seymour, it was impossible to tell whether or not that was a hallucination or reality.

"New news, Seymour," came Lulu's stoic voice. It echoed horribly in Seymour's ears, and sounded slightly distorted. "You're no longer required."

Seymour flinched violently as he heard the cocking of a pistol. A few seconds later, he heard the sound of sharp footsteps and felt the cold tip of the gun's barrel pressed roughly against his temple. He could feel blood pulsing against the barrel.

"The camera's on," Lulu said quietly. "Any last words of yours will be recorded."

"And censored," Seymour muttered in a bit of a slur, still trying his hardest to lessen the pain of the gun that Lulu had trained on his head.

"If that's what you want to believe," she replied casually. Silence followed. When Seymour said nothing, she said, "Well, if this is the way you want it, I'm not going to disagree."

She pulled the trigger.

Seymour's mind blanked. He might have screamed; he wasn't sure. All conscious thought had vanished, and for a few seconds, he might as well have been dead. It seemed like an eternity later that he found himself opening his eyes. He moved his head slowly, wincing when he felt his temple dig into the barrel of the gun. Lulu pulled the trigger again, and Seymour heard it this time. A simple _click_, echoing a dozen times in his head_._ He exhaled, suddenly realizing he'd been holding his breath the whole time.

"Damn," Lulu muttered. "Seems I forgot to load the magazine." Of course, she had done no such thing. However, Seymour didn't seem to react. He just rocked slowly back and forth in his chair, a slick ribbon of drool dangling from his lower lip. "Nice scream, by the way. Perhaps you should have been a singer. Certainly far less dangerous than being a crack revolutionary, wouldn't you say?" She paused, so that the only sound in the cell was the sliding of a magazine out of a pistol. "But no matter. There's always a backup plan." She snapped her fingers before nodding at the two guards on either side of the entrance to the cell. "Do it."

At that moment, Seymour's blindfold was torn from his head. Over the course of the next few minutes, a heavy metal collar was placed around his neck and securely fastened. The collar was severely uncomfortable, and Seymour was forced to hold his head up so that his Adam's apple didn't cut off his air supply. The collar had red and black wires protruding from it at regular intervals, and these wires were attached to wristbands that had been strapped around his wrists. More wires hung from the bands, and they had been twisted around the terminals of batteries that had been placed on either side of him. The batteries themselves head wires protruding from them; they snaked their way out of the room to another power source. This process took only a couple of minutes, and when the guards were finished, they nodded at Lulu and began to move out of the room.

"Wait," Lulu said shortly. "Un-cuff him."

One of the guards raised his eyebrow. "Miss, I don't know if that's wise."

"And I don't care," Lulu retorted. "The camera's on. He's restrained. And besides, if you do the jobs you're paid for, I've got nothing to worry about, do I?"

"No ma'am," the guard replied stoically, removing the handcuffs from Seymour's wrists before they both turned and exited the room.

Lulu turned her attention to the man who had been wired. "All right, Mayor Seymour. It's just you and me now. No guards to do my dirty work for me."

Seymour snorted. "I suppose this will explode if I'm bad?" he asked, jerking his head down toward the metal band encircling his neck and wincing as the metal cut into his skin.

Lulu's eyebrows rose. "Heavens no," she replied, sounding astonished that Seymour could even suggest such a thing. "Imagine the mess that would make."

Seymour snorted again. "Touché," he muttered sarcastically.

Lulu chose not to reply as she took a long look at the prisoner, then began to make her way to the tiny interrogation table. "I can't begin to imagine the effect this must have on you," she declared, speaking as though they were nothing more than sidewalk passerby engaging in simple small talk. "One day, you're one of the most famous and charismatic mayors in Bevelle's history. And believe me, Bevelle certainly has a lot of history." She chuckled to herself, and continued. "Everyone loved you. You spoke the hearts and minds of your people, so well, in fact, that even the rest of the world turned to listen. The entire world, who had cast aside your city as nothing more than being full of religious fanatics supported by a network of well-placed people that the rest of us could only begin to comprehend."

"Weren't they right?" Seymour quietly asked.

An impressed look crossed Lulu's face. "I suppose so," she replied, chuckling. She continued. "And then, when your popularity could not have possibly gotten any higher, you revealed your true colors, shocking the rest of the world and outraging the moderates in your city. But that didn't matter. You were a God in your universe, prepared to lead your followers in a holy crusade to purge this wonderful planet of all infidels. Home and Bikanel Island would be at your mercy, and certain sects of history would idolize you as a revolutionary, a spiritual visionary and crusader, on a noble quest to rid the land of all that was unholy."

Seymour nodded, a smile of his own forming his lips. "That is exactly correct."

"I thought so," Lulu replied. By this time, she had sat down at the table and crossed her leg. She was staring intently in Seymour's direction as they talked. Then, she began shaking her head. "And now, look at you. It's all turned around on you. You're in here. Reduced to nothing more than a sensational lunatic. Your city is in chaos. The world sees you as a radical sociopath. Your dreams, your popularity, your legacy . . . gone." She sighed, an expression of mock-pity all over her face. "How sad," she finished, shaking her head.

Seymour was silent now, his head down as far as the collar would allow. His lips were pursed and the veins on his head were throbbing. The saliva ribbon had since elongated, and was now dripping in a thick puddle on the floor. It was still dark in the room, which was a severe source of annoyance for Seymour. He wanted to see her face, so that he could at least imagine disfiguring it at her words.

Lulu emitted a huge sigh. "You must be going through all kinds of Hell right now. And for this reason, for what it's worth, I want to apologize for bluffing to kill you just now. I didn't take your burdens into consideration until a moment ago. I . . . well, I'm sorry."

Seymour said nothing for a few seconds before he said, "No you're not."

She laughed a little. "That's the truest thing you've said yet," she answered, hesitating slightly before continuing. "Regardless, we can move on. No more bluffing. You can rest assured that from now on, when I say I'm going to kill you, I really will."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
New Bhed International Airport.  
24:17.  
Sunday, December 8. _

Auron quickly took a seat aboard the 767 jet, bound for Bevelle, nodding the stewardess away when she asked whether or not he was comfortable. Thankfully, he was seated in first class, in the very first row next to the window, so he only had to worry about people to the side and from the back. It would be a lie to say that he was not nervous, even bordering on paranoid. His resignation from the SIA would no doubt cause a stir with the Director, especially since he knew such sensitive information. All his clearances would be erased. He would probably be tailed. In fact, Auron wouldn't be surprised if Kinoc had men on board this plane right now. If that was the case, Auron's task would be made much, much more difficult. Now his only chance to do what he had planned on doing for days now.

It was time to track down Seymour's computer.

Once again, Auron mentally kicked himself for not going over the files he downloaded onto that computer when he had first done the mission. Even though they had extensive security protecting it, Auron was very savvy when it came to computers. It wouldn't take him too long to hack into the file, assuming that the computer and the file were still accessible. Once he was there, everything would be simple. It was just getting there unharmed and undetected that would be tricky. There was also that one factor that was always an unknown and always a cause for worry: time. Auron had been running over possibilities and scenarios in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out what to do in what order. He had come up with several ideas, none of which he trusted all that much. However, there was one that stood out from the others, and this plan was the one he had decided to use.

He looked around him once more, checking his surroundings for anybody who looked like a tail. Finding nothing that raised any of his red flags, he waited until a particularly large group of people boarded the plane (so that they would add noise, thus interfering with any attempt to listen in) before pulling out his private cell phone and dialing. Holding it to his ear, he waited as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally on the fourth ring, when Auron was just about to shut the phone, his contact picked up.

"Yeah? Wakka here."

"This is Auron speaking."

"Auron! It's been awhile, ya? How've you been?"

"Better," was the reply. "How's Tidus?"

"I talked with him a day or so ago. He seemed okay. He was on a date."

Auron briefly recalled leaving money on the counter for Tidus for something that sounded like that, but he didn't press the matter. There were currently more important things on his mind.

"I need a favor, Wakka."

"Shoot."

Auron paused and sighed before asking his question. "How high do your SIA security clearances go?"

There was a brief pause before he responded. "As high as yours, I think. Why?"

"Good. Go to my house and open the safe. The combination's under the flowerpot in the kitchen windowsill. Inside you'll find another card. Take it and keep it. Don't get thrown by whose it is, just keep it."

"Got it," Wakka said. "What's up?"

Auron paused. "Book the next flight to Bevelle and I'll tell you."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

_ "We're the best at what we do. Miss, we deal with only the most ruthless and the most cunning of human beings. Seymour is, no doubt, no different. There's really only one thing you need to remember above everything else. With people like him, it's not as important to crack him as it is to not let him crack you . . ."_

__  
Cometia Prison Facility.  
24:25.  
Sunday, December 8. _

"Do you know what that is, Seymour?" Lulu nodded at the silver ring around the prisoner's neck.

"I'm at a loss," Seymour said carelessly.

"It's a high-tech shock collar. You've heard of them, no doubt. Dogs wear them."

"Point taken."

Lulu pulled a small remote from her pocket and rested it on the table. The remote was silver, like the collar, and about the size of a small TV remote. A button, a switch and a large black dial adorned the remote's front panel. The front end was pointed straight at Seymour's collar. It sat on the table, motionless, harmless. For the moment.

"This is your last chance, my friend," Lulu stated. At hearing the words 'my friend', Seymour chuckled softly. "Remember what we discussed. Nothing I say is false." She paused, waiting for Seymour's reaction. There was none, so she continued. "This is how it works. We start off as though we're having a normal conversation. If you're willing, that's all we'll have. You won't even feel this collar. But the moment you start . . . misbehaving, you get shocked. The shocks get stronger and longer each time I use it. If you disobey enough times, the electricity will kill you. Do you understand?"

Seymour rocked for a few seconds, used to the echoes by now. "Sounds like fun," he drawled.

Lulu said nothing to this sarcastic remark, instead picking up the remote and flipping the switch. "Let's begin. We'll start simple." She leaned forward, producing a photograph of the second missile striking the stadium. "Were you responsible for this attack?"

Seymour looked at the picture before nodding. "Yes, I was."

Lulu nodded. "The first missile did not hit the Al Bhed players' bench, as you know," she continued. "It hit the Top Box. Was this your intended target?"

Seymour shook his head. "No," he replied. "That shot missed. I had two shots fired in case that occurred."

"I see," Lulu replied. "But I still don't fully understand your motive for attacking the stadium, of all places. Why not attack something more . . . important? There were plenty of other targets. Different targets . . . I don't really want to say 'better' targets, but you know what I mean, right?"

"Why did I attack the stadium and not something else?" Seymour asked.

Lulu nodded. "Right," she replied.

Seymour sighed. "Good question," he said. "Intelligent question. I like that." He paused. "It was an announcement. I wanted to draw attention to the fact that my ambitions were not just concentrated on Al Bhed in Home, but on Al Bhed across the globe. That I was not afraid to strike anywhere, even the great city of Zanarkand." He sardonically emphasized the word 'great'.

Lulu shook her head. "Twisted," she muttered. "You are utterly insane."

"You call it what you want," Seymour countered. "I'm the only one telling the truth."

Lulu smiled. "Well, your delusions of prophecy aside, everything you've said seems to make sense. Now we move onto the interesting part." She paused for dramatic effect before leaning closer and nearly whispering, "Funding your crusade seems like it would be quite a problem. But you had enough money to last for months, didn't you? It was quite impressive." She paused again before smirking and leaning back. "Time to make me believe you have a boss. One with a lot of money."

Seymour blinked, obviously caught off-guard. "Money?" he repeated dumbly.

"Yes, the 687 million gil that magically appeared in your secure Kilikan account that was seized a few days ago," she replied. "You see, we've checked pretty much everywhere. Your other accounts, even the Al Bhed Mafia. There's nothing." Seymour was about to open his mouth to respond before Lulu cut him off. "Actually, forget that. I'm not interested so much in where the money came from as I am in who gave it to you in the first place. Obviously whoever's controlling the purse strings is very powerful. And I think you know who it is." She leaned forward abruptly, to whisper in his ear. "So you're going to tell me."

"I have no boss. I work alone," Seymour said. "At the top. This operation was risky enough without having to rely so heavily on other people. I didn't want to take that chance. The money was my own, funds that I had set aside for this very reason."

Lulu, who had been watching him up close the entire time, leaned back once again, shaking her head with a disappointed look on her face. She reached for the remote and pressed the large button in the center. Seymour instantly began to twitch from the electric shock. Her thumb depressed the button for roughly half a second before she let up and Seymour stilled. He quickly shook his head to shake off the feeling and looked up at Lulu, anger flashing in his eyes, and the veins on his head throbbing once again.

"Nice try, Seymour," Lulu said. "Even common sense tells me there's no way to 'set aside' that much money. We know you weren't working alone. All I need is to hear it from you. Now, who's your boss?"

"I don't have a boss," Seymour snapped.

Lulu pressed the button again, for roughly two seconds this time. "You went downhill fast," she observed casually, letting her finger off the button. "Then again, I should be happy you were honest for as long as you were. Politicians so often believe their lies as truth that it eventually becomes impossible to tell the difference."

"This coming from a government attorney?" Seymour retorted. "Tell me Lulu, how many times have your pants caught fire since you became a lawyer?"

Lulu pressed the button again. "I also zap you for bad jokes," she replied afterward. Then, she turned the dial on the remote. "It's going to hurt worse now, so I recommend staying away from the humor," she added. "Who are you working for?" This time, Seymour didn't reply. "It's a simple question. Hurry up. I don't have all night."

"I work only for Yevon," Seymour replied. "I assume that's who you mean."

Lulu once again shocked Seymour, holding the button for about five seconds. This time, he convulsed more violently, and was twitching a bit even after Lulu had stopped.

Lulu's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "Who were you working for?"

"I already told you," Seymour said. "My answer does not change. And even if I was lying, what would I get out of confessing the truth?"

"Merciful death," Lulu replied. "A fair trial."

Seymour laughed. "Which comes first?"

Lulu shook her head, gazing at him somewhat sadly. "You're really not going to tell me, are you?" she said.

"No," he answered, almost giggling. "No, I'm not."

She sighed slowly. "All right." She said quietly, sounding resolute. "You're finished . . . you know what happens next."

Before Seymour could protest, she put her left finger on the shock button of the remote and her right hand over the dial to turn up the power. Seymour once again began twitching as the electricity coursed through his body. He made no noise; the only sound that could be heard in the room was that of the soft hum of the flow of the electricity from the batteries and into the prisoner.

Lulu wasted no time. "Who were you working for?"

"I told you already," Seymour replied through the shocks. He could barely speak.

"Wrong," Lulu snapped, turning up the dial on the remote so that more power flowed through the wires. "Who were you working for? Tell me or you're a dead man!"

"I told you!" Seymour hissed. "I've told you all I will!"

Lulu cranked the power even more, feeling something snap in her head. "_Who the fuck were you working for?_" She slapped him across the face. _"Tell me, goddamn you! Tell me!_"

Seymour, by this time, could not talk anymore, there were too many volts coursing through his body. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his teeth were clenched to keep himself from screaming. He convulsed violently, and his eyes were clenched shut as tight as humanly possible. Lulu watched with a crazed look on her face, her increasingly shaking hand clasping the remote so hard her already pale hand was stark white. The hand poised over the power knob on the remote was ready to turn it to the final notch. Once there, the dose of electricity would be lethal.

But her hand remained frozen in place. She didn't turn the dial that last notch. Instead, she leaned closer to Seymour so that she would be able to whisper into the trembling man's ear. She didn't want to have the people watching the cameras hear what she had to say.

"Tell me," she said in a shaky whisper. "I can't do this to you. Help me, please. I can't do this to you . . ."

Seymour opened his eyes just as the electricity stopped flowing through his veins. He twitched violently, trying his hardest to ignore the immense pain he felt all through his body. Though it was almost unbearable to move, he lifted his head to look into Lulu's face. What he saw greatly surprised him. She looked the most desperate he had ever seen anybody. Her eyes were begging and pleading with him to say something, anything, that she could use to get herself out. Seymour stared at her for the longest time before nodding slowly, a smile mixed with resolve, amusement and pain on his face.

"So . . ." he managed to say. "It would seem that the enemy of my enemy is my friend . . ."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

_Three hours earlier_

Seymour stared up into his eyes, hatred etched into every line of his face. "You betrayed me, you backstabbing bastard," he snarled.

"I've done nothing of the sort. I'll clear your name; just give her the confession that we've prepared for you. In little time, you'll be a free man again."

Seymour snorted and spat at the man's feet. "You lie. I have no reason to trust you."

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you reveal so much as a tiny fraction of the truth, your days on Spira will become very finite indeed."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.6 ~~~~~**

__  
Home, The Hotel Dune.  
02:01.  
Sunday, December 8. _

Lulu stared blankly ahead, mind and body completely numb. A small cassette tape was clutched firmly in her hand. She could barely remember anything after she had shut off the power to Seymour's shock collar. She could remember him confessing to her, in great detail, how he had been funded by others in his city's government. He told her that the money came from various public works programs, in amounts small enough that they wouldn't be noticed by any inspections. She had also been told that his Deputy Mayor, Tromell, had been the one who managed all the funds, and he was able to cover his tracks with some of his own personal funds. However, after Seymour had finished, he jerked his head down to his right hand, where Lulu could plainly see that he had his fingers pointedly crossed.

Seymour had leaned over to whisper in her hear. "Move," he hissed. "Move so that you're blocking the camera." She instinctively turned to look for the camera, but Seymour quickly grabbed her. "Don't look." She froze. "You're fine now."

Then, she saw his hand point down, and there she saw it: the tape she now had in her hand resting next to the chair. She reached over, pretending to disconnect the wires on the battery before reaching down to slip the tape down her shirt. In case she was searched on the way out, she hid it in her cleavage, which was more than large enough to conceal the tape.

She tried to get up, but Seymour continued to hold her down. "Your biggest weakness is showing that you're weak. And you did, in front of me and in the sight of Yevon, our holy God. For that, I'm willing to make my ultimate sacrifice." She looked at him quizzically. Then, he smiled and said in a normal voice, "Besides, I have my own reasons."

That was the last thing he said to her.

Now, in the hotel room, she slowly unwrapped her fingers from around the tape, staring at the small black device. She had yet to listen to it, but everything was ready. She had a cassette player on the small desk at which she sat, ready to play. Since the time she left Cometia, she had been trying to figure out what Seymour's "sacrifice" was. However, she had no doubt that it would be outlined on the tape. Which, for some reason, she was hesitant, almost afraid, to listen to.

Finally, she shook off her nerves and moved her hand and slowly popped the tape into the cassette player. Slowly, she snapped the lid shut and pushed the play button. The twenty seconds of silence that followed seemed to take an age, but finally there was the sound of Seymour's voice. It was emotionless and matter-of-fact. Even still, the first words he spoke were enough to send a huge chill down Lulu's spine.

_ "My name . . . is Seymour Guado. And if you're listening to this recording . . . I am a dead man." _

* * *

Hm. What does he mean by that . . .

. . . you'll find out in the final chapter of Part Two, chapter 14, entitled The Cost of Truth, when:

(a) Auron returns to Bevelle, performing a mission against his own government. There he learns the cost of truth.  
(b) Paine and Rikku return, with Paine's next hit threatening to shatter what's left of Rikku's innocence. She learns the cost of truth.  
(c) Lulu listens to Seymour's audio confession. She realizes the horrible cost of truth.  
(d) What is the cost of truth? Braska and Cid find out.  
(e) Everything changes.

As always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

SirGecko


	14. The Cost of Truth

Hello all. This is it: the final chapter of Part Two. It's 22 pages long, a couple pages shorter than my last chapter. Be careful, as this one jumps around a lot too. and be sure to make note of dates and times. Now, with this chapter complete, you readers start to get a few answers. Paine gets assigned to do a huge hit. Auron travels to Bevelle, acting on his own with an SIA renegade. Tidus and Yuna grow even closer. You are reminded of who the true bad guy is with Cid. And somebody dies.

And that's all I'll tell you, other than EVERY character is in this chapter except Lulu. Well, she sort of does; you'll find out what I mean. The rest, however, Auron, Tidus, Yuna, Kinoc, Cid, Braska, Wakka, Rikku, Paine, Seymour, and LeBlanc are all in here. Even O'aka and Belgemine make short appearances.

Anyway, onward to the liability stuff so my poor college ass won't get sued for all the top ramen I'm worth.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken.**

Anyway, that does it. It's been awhile, so savor and enjoy chapter fourteen!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 14: The Cost of Truth  


* * *

**

__  
SIA HQ, Full Circle Garden.  
07:57.  
Sunday, December 8. _

"Okay, we're just about ready to go live to the conference hall where SIA Director Wen Kinoc will give his very brief press conference on Seymour's trial," Leblanc reported. "We at SINN were just notified of this conference just a few hours ago, but this has apparently been in the works for longer than that. We're standing live, right here in the Full Circle Garden outside SIA headquarters as we come up on two minutes to eight." She held her hand up to her ear. "Yes, Kinoc has just seated himself, and he appears ready to give his statement. Let's listen in now on what he has to say."

Nearly as many viewers were glued to their television screens as there had been just after the attacks on the stadium. Late last night, an announcement had come over the airwaves that the SIA would be holding a very short press conference early the next morning, and that they would reveal new information regarding Seymour. The city, and indeed much of the world, now held its breath as SINN's live camera in the conference hall appeared on their screens, centered on the serious Wen Kinoc, who was standing at the front of the room behind the room's podium. On one side of him was the Deputy Director, Belgemine, and on his other side was O'aka, ZPD Chief. Belgemine's expression was very stoic, Kinoc's intense and serious, and O'aka's slightly nervous. The short policeman looked completely out of place among these powerful people. Where the SIA top two were dressed in black garments, he was wearing his best bright blue policeman's uniform.

Kinoc began without greeting. "Seymour has officially confessed to masterminding the Stadium Attack," he began.

It only took that one sentence to send an uproar around the room among the reporters, all asking questions at once and flashing their cameras. Kinoc held up his hands for silence and waited for them to quiet.

"Once again, I ask that you hold your questions until I am finished," Kinoc continued. "He has also confessed to planning other attacks, including one against New Bhed National Airport. He is well aware of his situation and the charges against him. He knows that his guilt is certain, and that he will be convicted of multiple counts of genocide and crimes against humanity." He paused. "He's also agreed to fully cooperate with authorities in exchange for a transfer from Cometia Prison, and his trial is expected to begin soon.

"On a somewhat related matter, Tromell Guado, the current Mayor and DASC representative of Bevelle, has been detained by SIA and CCDP forces. He went into custody without incident and intends to fully cooperate with any investigation launched by either the SIA or the DASC. No formal charges are being filed against him at this time, but he is a person of interest whose name came up in our investigation into Seymour. That's all I have to say." Kinoc only paused to look at his notes once. He addressed the audience directly the entire time otherwise.

"As a result, the DASC has declared an emergency recess," Belgemine cut in, taking over for her boss. "The body will not convene for at least a week, during a replacement will be selected from Bevelle's Parliament by the remaining three Spiran Superpowers. Now, the three of us will take a few questions."

A reporter in the front stood up, her hand raised as high as it would go. Her other hand clutched a legal pad and a pen. "When and where will Seymour's trial be?"

Belgemine answered the question. "I'll answer the 'when' first," she said. "That's something we're still trying to work out. But we expect it to begin next month sometime. Now, as far as 'where' is concerned, he will be tried in Zanarkand for genocide and crimes against humanity, and then possibly down in Bevelle for corruption and fraud. However, Bevelle's interim government is still deciding whether or not this will take place. The arraignment, however, will be very early tomorrow morning, at an undisclosed time in Zanarkand Supreme Court. Who's next . . . yes." She pointed at a young reporter in the front row waving his hand frantically.

"Will the meetings between Luca, Home and Zanarkand be made public?" he asked in a professional, yet hurried clip.

"They will not," was Kinoc's direct reply. "Next question."

"Whoa, just a second there Director . . . why not?"

"The discussions will contain information that can't be made public for the sake of intercity security," Kinoc replied. "Welcome to the post-Stadium era, boys and girls - security has become our top priority, and keeping certain things out of the public eye is necessary. Now, next question. You in the back."

"Yes, yes. Thank you for taking this, Director."

"My pleasure."

"Can you tell me the general attitude of the DASC toward the city of Bevelle right now?"

Kinoc paused a few seconds before answering. "I can't tell you . . . anything specific, really. Braska, the DASC chairman, will have to comment on that. However . . . I can tell you that the three remaining SS cities will make a decision that is adequately influenced by the remaining members of the council. If in fact, you're ultimately worried about any discrepancy in the opinions of the voters." Kinoc smiled. "Is that what you were worried about, my friend?"

"Uh, no sir. Thank you."

"As I said, it's my pleasure."

Another reporter in the front of the room was selected next. "My question is regarding the legal counsel in Seymour's trial. Who will be the attorneys appointed to each side?"

Kinoc looked to O'aka, indicating that the response should come from him. O'aka stood up, barely adding any height to his stature. "For the prosecution, Zanarkand's able DA, Lulu, will be appointed," he said. "We have yet to line up a defense attorney."

"Will he be put to death?" the reporter asked.

_ "I am a dead man . . ."_

"We're not at liberty to answer that," Kinoc replied. "That's all the time we have. Thank you."

He, Belgemine and O'aka filed out as reporters shouted out dozens of questions, all of which went unanswered.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 78th St., Apartment 202.  
08:21.  
Sunday, December 8. _

"Morning!"

A groan. "Urgh . . . what fuckin' time is it?"

"Twenty past eight."

Tidus sat up, slowly rubbing his eyes. "That early?" he mumbled. "Shit!"

Yuna laughed and sat up with him. "It's not early," she argued playfully, leaning against him and wrapping her arms around his bare torso. "I'm usually up three hours ago."

Tidus looked down at her, an amazed look on his face. "That's crazy," he said. "Especially after last night. For a virgin, you fuck like a wild woman. I'm **still** tired."

Yuna reddened and looked away. "I hope that's a good thing." She said it as more of a question than anything else.

Tidus laughed and drew her closer to him. "If I'm tired, then s'all good." He saw her smile.

It was chilly in the room. The radiator had kicked off some time ago and had neglected to turn back on. The fact that the apartment was old and poorly-insulated didn't help matters either. It had started snowing again, quite heavily as well. The sun was still down and it had to be at least ten below zero out. However, Tidus had both a down blanket and a heavy quilt over his bed, which was more than enough to keep them warm.

"Damn I'm hungry," Tidus muttered. "I'm gonna go get a bagel. Want one?"

Yuna shook her head. "No thanks," she replied.

"I'll be back," Tidus said, hopping out of the bed, completely naked, and making his way for the door.

"Aren't you cold?" Yuna asked, sitting up more and holding the two blankets to her chest. "I'm freezing."

"Naw, I don't get cold," Tidus said. "But I'll turn the heater up on my way down." With that, he disappeared from view.

Yuna's cell phone, which she had placed on the nightstand next to the bed, suddenly began to vibrate. The sound of the phone against the wood of the stand jolted Yuna from the foggy bliss of last night, and reality hit even harder when she saw who it was that was calling. Bracing herself for the inevitable wave of questions that she would no doubt receive, she flipped the phone open and placed it to her ear.

"Hello? Yuna?" the mayor said into the phone.

"Yes, Father, it's me," Yuna replied.

"Where have you been?" Braska asked. He sounded flustered, but not angry. "Maechen and I have been calling and calling."

Yuna had had enough of this. She hadn't been with Tidus that long, but she knew that what she liked about him most was that he did his own thing when he wanted to. He never worried about what other people thought. Things were so simple for him in that regard. Sure, there was a little voice in Yuna's head that told her that being indifferent to others wasn't always a good thing, but at this point, she didn't care. The last few days were some of the best that she could remember, and she wasn't about to give them up just for somebody else's schedule, which she knew was what this call was indeed about.

"Out," Yuna said shortly. "I've been with Tidus."

She at least figured that by telling the truth, her conscience would be more at ease if she were to disappoint her father. She still loved her father very much, and didn't like disappointing or upsetting him. Honesty would make things easier on her. She thought she heard other voices talking in the background, but dismissed them too.

"Did you ever think that maybe you might need to call me and at least tell me what you were doing?" Braska asked.

"No," Yuna said bluntly.

Braska's surprise was evident by the period of silence on his end of the line. "Yuna, is something the matter?"

Yuna knew what she wanted to say. Normally, she would just shelve her true feelings and be delicate about everything. Perhaps it was because she had reached the end of her tether, or perhaps she so liked Tidus's mentality about control, but she decided to try something different.

"Yes," she replied. "The matter is that I'm tired of following everybody else's schedule but mine. From now on, I'm making my own schedule. I'm doing what I want to, when I want to. Okay?"

Braska sighed pointedly. "Now, you know we've had this discussion before. You can't–"

"I don't care," Yuna retorted. "I don't care what we've said in the past. You need to listen to me now. I can't deal with this lifestyle anymore. I can't and I won't. I'm almost twenty years old, and fully capable of making my own decisions for myself."

"Listen to me, Yuna," Braska said, now sounding as though he was losing his patience. "Come home, and we can talk."

"Okay, but later," she said. "I'm with Tidus right now."

"Doing what?"

"That isn't your concern, Father. You know that."

Braska repeated himself more forcefully. "Doing what?"

It was then that Yuna lost it. "Fucking his brains out!" she shouted into the phone. "You can tell Maechen too if you want. I don't care. Goodbye."

She slammed the phone shut and tossed it on the floor, throwing herself back against Tidus's bed with a huge sigh. Perhaps what she had said felt good at the time, but now, she wasn't so sure she should have lost her temper like that. On the one hand, it was something she'd been trying to work up the nerve to tell him for months now. She normally hated confrontation of any sort, and to go against her own personality that way felt liberating in a way. On the other side, she was having trouble absorbing the idea for the same reason. However, one thing was true: she was going to steer clear of her father for a while. Which meant that she'd be spending the day with Tidus.

She looked to her left and saw him standing open-mouthed in the doorway. Apparently he had caught the last part of her phone conversation. Upon meeting Yuna's gaze, he quickly closed his mouth and walked into the room.

"Uh, sorry it took me so long," was all he said as he sat down on the bed and took a bite out of his bagel. "I ran into Wakka down there. It was the most fucked up thing. He was standing at Auron's safe with it wide open. And he had a card in his hand. And he was looking at it like, 'Holy shit! What the fuck is this?' So I told him that I was here with you and he left."

Yuna sighed. "So he's gone?" Tidus nodded.

"Yeah, he's gone," he replied. "Everything cool?" He nodded his head at her phone as he took another gigantic bite from his bagel.

Yuna nodded and said, "Yeah. I'm fine. I turned my phone off, so they won't call back."

"Hey baby, it's okay," he said softly, setting his bagel aside and rolling over so that his body was pressed against Yuna's. "What's up?"

Yuna shook her head and snuggled against her lover, a small smile on her face at his presence. "I don't know," she said softly.

Tidus grinned. "Well then, what do you know?"

_ "I know everything . . ." _

"I know that this is the happiest I've been in a long, long time," Yuna said, starting to run her hands lightly over Tidus's warm skin. "And I think I can only get happier." Her expression suddenly turned serious as she drew herself even closer to him.

"So, I heard something earlier about 'fucking my brains out . . .'" Tidus trailed off suggestively.

Although her face reddened again slightly, a sly grin appeared on Yuna's face as she positioned herself so that she was straddling him. She leaned in close, nipping his ear. "I know you too well already," she breathed.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Blitz Bar and Grill.  
14:44.  
Sunday, December 8. _

"You don't want to know me," Paine replied.

Rikku raised her eyebrows in a manner of agreement. "Maybe, maybe not," she said. "You can't get mad at me for being curious." Paine did not respond, which left Rikku to search for something else to say in the uncomfortable silence. "So . . ."

Paine's gaze hardened. "Just tell me what you want to hear."

"Huh?"

The assassin shook her head. "You're looking for some tragic history, aren't you? Some reason, some life-changing shit that transformed me from an innocent, sweet little girl into a crazy bitch who will kill anybody if the price is right." Rikku, who looked very taken aback, opened her mouth to reply but Paine cut her off. "Fine. If it pleases you to know, my father was a sexual predator. I was his prey." She sighed and stared at the saltshaker on the table. "Almost every week, in the woodshed. He'd grab me by the hand and wrench me away. I became his plaything." She snorted, ignoring the horrified look on Rikku's face. "If I didn't obey his every demand, he'd beat me. Fuck me harder. Make it hurt more." She stared pointedly at Rikku. "I'm sure you know how that feels."

The Al Bhed girl closed her eyes as her own traumatic memories came flooding back. She could still feel the cold slime from the alley wall against her back, his heated panting against the soft skin of her neck, his rough hands groping her so hard it was painful. She could hear the dripping of snow melting off warm roofs. She could smell the grease in the air. And she felt . . . it. Matters weren't helped by the fact that they were back at the very place where Rikku had been raped. A small smirk had appeared on Paine's face. She continued.

"Anyway, when my mom found out, she didn't do a thing," Paine said. "Not a thing. She was afraid of him too. Too afraid to help me. It lasted until I was about fifteen. Then he died of a heart attack."

She finished her story with a derisive snort and took a long draft from the bottle of Luca Mist beer that she had ordered. Rikku continued to sit in stunned silence, subconsciously watching Paine stare intently at the foam resting on top of the amber liquid inside the bottle. Her captor watched her slowly rotate the bottle with her pale and slender hand, the coaster rotating with it. She looked up as Rikku continued to stare at her.

Rikku had been through six kinds of Hell with Paine. All the same, she still felt compassion for her. "I'm . . . so sorry," Rikku finally whispered. "I had no idea."

To her great surprise, Paine began to laugh. It was the first time Rikku had actually heard the woman laugh. "Don't be," she said, still laughing. "I was just screwing with you." Suddenly, she jerked her head down to her belt and removed her pager, scanning the number that had appeared there. Her face had gone from animated to deadly serious faster than one could blink. "Excuse me," she said to the pager, getting up and walking swiftly away.

Rikku blinked, still trying to take in the suddenness of Paine's change in demeanor. It took a moment or two to register that Paine had been exploiting her feelings of sympathy for her own amusement. However, the girl had been through so much in the last few days that this seemed trivial. She just sighed and sipped her soda through the bright green straw in her glass before letting her head rest in her trembling hands. She swam in hopelessness as she sat motionless for several minutes, her hands pressing against her eyes until she began to see flashes of stars against the blackness. Slowly she lifted her head and saw Paine in the opposite corner of the bar, talking on her cell phone, watching Rikku the entire time she talked. Rikku could only meet her gaze for a second before averting her eyes to her drink.

Memories began to play through her head like a slide show. Memories of the times she had experienced in Zanarkand. She remembered campaigning with Uncle Braska and Cousin Yuna. She remembered the joy of victory when Braska was elected Mayor. Going to her first DASC meeting. Getting her first boyfriend, a page who turned out to be a total jerkoff. She remembered the few late nights she'd had with Yuna where they just stayed up and talked about nothing and everything. Meeting Seymour for the first time. Meeting Paine for the first time. It was almost as though her life was flashing before her eyes, as it supposedly did before death. All these memories, even the very recent ones, seemed as though they had occurred years and years ago.

She took another pensive sip of her drink and glanced up. Paine was still on the phone. She chuckled and cast a quick look Rikku's way. There was a smirk on her face, something that Rikku got unusually bad vibes from. Paine had given her nothing **but** bad vibes, but she felt an incredible twinge in her stomach that almost made her vomit on the spot. Quickly she averted her gaze and tried to ignore the lead weight that had materialized in her gut.

"Rikku?"

Startled and almost spilling her drink, she wheeled to her right to look for the source of the voice. At first, she couldn't find it, but then he appeared. It was like a gift from Yevon himself, which was ironic because Rikku was disinclined to even think such a thing. From the large crowd that was milling around the bar came Wakka, dressed in a suit that clashed horribly with his spiked, flaming orange hair. Nonetheless, Rikku was more than relieved to see him.

He quickly walked over and slid in the seat next to her, flashing her a toothy grin. "Hey you. It's been awhile since we talked, ya? Where you been?"

Rikku cast a nervous look Paine's way, a look that Wakka did not fail to notice. "Hey," she said pensively. "I'm really sorry that I haven't called you. I really wanted to. I really did. But I couldn't."

Wakka nodded, looking both confused and disappointed. "That's all right. It wasn't your fault, ya?" Rikku could tell he was looking for reassurance, and it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

"Nope," she reassured him as best she could. "It wasn't. It was mine. All mine . . ." she trailed off and turned away.

"Hey, hey, hey," Wakka put an arm around her and drew her close to him. "What's wrong?"

"I've been kidnapped by a hired assassin, Wakka. That's why I haven't been able to talk to you. Please send for help, please!"

She would've liked to have said that.

However, she held her tongue until she had a moment to consider the consequences. Paine would no doubt ask her questions about who this guy was, but it was unlikely that she would actually come over and send him away. Paine only dealt with people when she had to, and only killed when she had to. Rikku knew that much about her. She also knew that she wasn't nearly good enough at lying to expect Paine to buy any she told. She cast a gaze at Paine, who had ended her phone conversation and was watching them intently from the alcove next to the juke box.

That pretty much helped make up her mind.

"You gotta go, Wakka."

The man looked even more hurt and confused. "But–"

"I don't want you to go, but you have to. Please, don't ask why, because I can't say right now," she begged. "Just trust me. I'll tell you everything when I can, okay? Please?"

Wakka looked at her for several moments before sighing heavily. Rikku's pleading almost put a lump in his own throat. "All right, kiddo. I'm headed to Bevelle right now. Last-minute Blitzball thing. They rescheduled the Blitzball Tournament for the 17th, and I have practice there tomorrow. In fact, I was supposed to be outta here a long time ago, but that damn snowstorm closed down the airport. Wild weather, ya?" Rikku just nodded. Wakka grew more serious. "Listen Rikku. I don't know what's eatin' you, but everything will be okay. Promise me you'll talk to me when I get back, ya?"

She nodded again. "Okie dokie," she said, a half-smile on her face. "I promise." It was more of a promise to herself than to him.

Wakka leaned over and pecked her on the forehead before turning quickly to exit the booth. "See ya around." With that, he got up and began walking away, casting a small smile back at her as he departed.

She watched him go through the front door. "Goodbye," she whispered, knowing he couldn't hear her.

She had a small smile on her face as she felt the spot where Wakka had kissed her. It gave her a small ray of hope; Wakka was the first person she'd talked to besides Paine in four days. She was reminded of the world of normalcy so detached from her own, yet so close at the same time. Now, it didn't seem that far of a stretch to get herself out of this situation and away from Paine. At least somebody had seen and talked to her.

Just then, Paine appeared. Her expression did not seem curious or suspicious in the slightest. In fact, she barely looked at Rikku as she made to leave the bar, cue for Rikku to start doing the same. Paine left more than enough money to cover the expenses of their drinks plus a healthy tip before she walked briskly out of the bar, Rikku in tow.

"Where are we going?" Rikku asked hesitantly, in an effort to break the ice.

"Back to the hotel," she said without looking back at her captive

"You're not going to ask me about who I was talking to at all?" Rikku could not resist asking.

Paine shook her head. "No," she replied, "because you know that I'll kill anyone who might threaten my livelihood, as would be the case if you told him. I could tell that he cared about you a great deal, almost as much as I could see that you cared about him. So I'm sure you kept your mouth shut."

There was nothing Rikku could think of in response, so she kept quiet during the rest of the walk to their new rental car and throughout the drive. The more she thought about what Paine said, the more it made sense, albeit in a twisted way. The snow had stopped falling, the storm having moved off to the southeast, revealing the sky, which was nearly devoid of stars due to the surrounding city lights. The moon was nearly full, which further suppressed the light of the stars. Even so, the sky possessed a beauty that was almost surreal on this night, what with the moon in one corner of the sky and the glowing orange clouds in another. A few stars dotted the sky in between.

A few minutes later, they had made their way to the hotel room where they had been for the last two days. This was the third hotel she had been in since being kidnapped. Paine kept them on the move, an added precaution to make them harder to find. She then proceeded to swiftly pack what little stuff she carried with her. This surprised Rikku, since Paine had told her they were not moving to a new hotel until tomorrow. Rikku was further surprised when Paine indicated that she was to do the same.

"What's going on?" Rikku asked as she moved to comply.

Paine did not look up as she packed her briefcase. "New hit," she said shortly. "And you're coming with me."

Rikku snapped her head up. "W-what?"

"You might take a liking to this one," Paine said flatly and expressionlessly. Then, she looked up at her captive, a slight smirk crawling across her face. "Just trust me."

_ "Trust is something that should be given only to those who deserve it."_

Rikku knew she could do nothing to change Paine's mind. Swallowing down a fresh wave of nerves, she continued to pack in silence.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand Mansion.  
17:54.  
Sunday, December 8._

Cid looked up from the pile of papers that were scattered in front of him, an exhausted look on his face. He clutched a few of the documents in his hand. "So, what the hell do we do now?" he asked Braska tiredly, kneading his eyes with his other hand.

The other man sighed. "I don't know. Everything seems to be in order. Even so, with Seymour coming to town to be prosecuted, he's going to tow in all the baggage that comes with a man in his position. Good and bad. Politicians, media, lawyers, rioters, hit men, Al Bhed Mafia, terrorists, the whole nine yards."

"Shit." Cid poured another shot of whiskey and stared at the glass, thinking. "Well, let's start with the basic crap. What kind of security do we have on this guy?"

"The best," Braska replied. "DASC specialty personnel."

"And elsewhere?"

"The same." Braska stood up from the huge table where all the paperwork was spread out. "What say you and I take a break from all this and go for a walk? I could use some air."

"It's twenty below out!"

"And I'm tired, and need to wake up. You too. We're in for a late night. Remember, we're due at the SIA later to go over Seymour's security plans."

"Dammit."

Cid nevertheless complied and stood up, holding up his finger so that Braska would wait while he took care of his whiskey shot. They then walked the halls of the Governor's Mansion to the front door where they picked up their coats, pausing again while Cid took a quick phone call and waved away a priority package for him. After that, they walked out into the sub-zero freezing weather. Their breath visible in the frigid night, they walked down the serpentine driveway in silence.

Finally, Braska spoke up. He turned to his friend. "So, who was that on the phone?"

"You know that cute DA gal? Her name's Lulu."

Braska smiled. "She's quite the character. Yeah, I know her. What of it?"

"She called me and said she had to meet with me tomorrow," Cid said. "She said it couldn't wait."

Braska's eyebrows rose in alarm. He hadn't spoken to her since the time he had gone over to her house when she asked for the prosecuting job in Seymour's trial. He had let Kinoc deal with things from there. Had something happened? Did she learn something important? Knowledge of another terrorist attack?

"Hey man, don't look so shook up!" Cid roared jovially. "She said it was about Seymour's trial. She probably wants to be the goddamn judge too." At this, Braska managed a smile.

"You're right," he said. "Let's just enjoy the walk. We'll keep it short." Cid nodded in agreement. "So, how are you holding up?"

Cid looked ahead as he spoke, taking a moment to answer. "Well, this Seymour thing's got me pullin' my hair out," he replied, chuckling to himself and nodding to his bald head. Braska smiled. "And I'm not looking forward to meeting that SIA sonuvabitch either."

Braska shook his head at his friend's animosity, but he kept to the point. "How about your personal life?"

Cid now looked taken aback. "Hey, what's with you?"

"All we ever talk about are meetings, treaties, current events, terrorism, corruption, war, and a ton of other unpleasant topics," Braska said. "It's easy to forget what's going on just with us, in our own lives."

Cid caught on and gave his friend a knowing look. "What happened?"

Braska smiled a sad, half-smile. "My last conversation with Yuna didn't go so well . . ." he paused. "She's seeing this young man, a rookie Blitzball player for the Zanarkand Abes. Apparently their relationship is really serious." He stopped talking again, listening to their feet crunch the snow. Cid walked in silence, listening. "Anyway, I asked what she was doing, and she essentially told me to stay out of her business and her life. I don't know, Cid . . . I probably came off as nosy, but still, that hurts."

"You were," Cid said. Braska looked up at him. "Look, pal. You can't have a good relationship with your daughter if you're leashin' her all the time. Cut her some slack! That's what I do with Rikku. I talk to her every now and then to see **how** she's doing, not **what** she's doing."

"Well, that Tidus kid has a bit of a reputation," Braska sighed. "I looked into his record. Driving without a license, marijuana and alcohol possession, performing sexual acts in public . . ." He stopped at the incredulous look on Cid's face. "Yes, I know snooping through his police record sounds devious. I just want to know that she's okay Cid. I guess I just have a bad way of showing it."

"HAH!" Cid's expression disappeared and he clapped the Mayor on the back. "Don't worry about it, she'll come around," he laughed. "They always do. Hell, I haven't seen Rikku in almost a week, but I'm not too worried. She's probably out gallivanting and having a great 'ol time while you and I are stuck preparing for meetings." He sighed. "Sometimes I wish I was her, you know? She has it good right now . . ."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle Outskirts, I-360.  
01:24.  
Monday, December 9. _

"No, I don't. Wakka, I have neither the time nor the patience to wait for you like this."

"I'm going about 110 on the freeway right now, headed your way. You're on the 360, ya?"

"Exit 420 to Highway 56."

"Gotcha."

This was why Auron liked working alone. If the mission went wrong, there was nobody he could blame but himself. There were no backs he'd have to watch but his own. There were no surroundings he had to worry about but his own. But in dual missions, like the ones he went on with Jecht, half of it depended on your partner. There was always a great feeling of unease and tension coursing through Auron's body on a teamed mission. In addition, Wakka was not as skilled a spy as Jecht was, not by a long shot. In fact, he was not trained as a spy at all, but solely as an undercover agent (Auron was trained at both). And there was a world of difference.

However, Auron knew that Wakka was the only one capable of helping him out whom he could trust. He was certain that there was corruption within the SIA, and that Kinoc was aware of it at the very least. As much as he hated to admit it, and as much as he preferred going it alone, he needed Wakka's help. Wakka was just high-profile enough and low-key enough that hardly anyone would suspect anything with him. And it was also true that Wakka was the closest thing he had to a friend, even if they were far from being so. Wakka was a good guy, and kept it real about most things (religion not being one of them, as far as Auron was concerned).

Auron hit the gas on his rental car, bringing his speed up to 90 miles per hour. He wasn't worried about the police pulling him over. He had brought along a handy device that he obtained in his time at the SIA, which told other police that he was an unmarked vehicle. Therefore, Auron could go as fast as he wanted. Considering this fact, he hit the gas again, inching up to 100. Instinctively, he cast an eye on his rearview mirror, and saw the headlights of a car growing large at a very fast rate.

'Finally,' he thought.

All of a sudden, Auron felt a very strong sense of unease and urgency in his gut. It was so powerful that it caused him to buckle slightly, therefore removing his foot from the gas pedal and slowing his car down. It was a feeling that Auron rarely got, but when he did, it never meant anything good. It also usually meant one thing – he was being followed.

He picked up the cheap store-brand walkie talkie that he used to communicate with Wakka. It was a sort of backwards-thinking idea, in that it was so simple a communication device that there was little risk of the SIA monitoring its signal.

"Wakka, please tell me that's you behind me."

A brief pause. "I'm hurryin' Auron, don't get your balls in a knot," Wakka replied. "I'm at mile post 411 right now."

Auron looked to the side of the road, waiting for a mile post sign to appear. The next one that came up read 414. "I'm being followed."

A longer pause. "You sure?"

"That's why I radioed you, to find out," Auron replied tensely, sneaking a peek in his rearview mirror as the tail approached. "You're too far back to be who I'm seeing."

"All right, all right," Wakka acknowledged. He swore violently under his breath before saying, "Keep breathin' until I get there, ya? How long until your exit?"

"Six miles."

Silence. Then, "I have a plan. Hold on." The line went dead, but not before Auron heard the sound of Wakka's sports car's engine revving.

The only thing positive that Auron could think of pertaining to this entire situation was that there was very little traffic on the freeway at this time of night, leaving him plenty of room in case he had to pull off some evasive maneuvers. However, the same advantage was true for his tail as well. And now, as Auron entered downtown Bevelle, the light drizzle that had been falling for the last three hours turned into a steady rain, which would complicate things should his tail decide to approach Auron and try anything.

Bevelle was fast becoming a sight that Auron was quite weary of. He never liked the city to begin with (he disliked it much more than he disliked Zanarkand), and the fact that this was the second time he had to be here in two weeks didn't exactly make the place grow on him. There were many more policemen patrolling the city since Seymour had fled, a force almost solely dedicated to stemming riots. However, they were able to do very little, proven by the several thin clouds of smoke that were visible within the distances of the city.

The uneasy feeling growing within Auron as each second passed, he stole another glance in his mirror. The car had disappeared. However, Auron knew that the tail was still out there. Cursing himself for not being more attentive, he craned his neck in every direction, trying his hardest to locate the tail. He desisted after almost going off the road, but would look in his mirror every few seconds to see if the car reappeared.

Soon, it did – right alongside him.

Auron only found out when a gunshot blew out the back window on his side of the car, startling him so much that he almost again drove into the concrete barrier. Glass sprayed all over the backseat, and a piece even embedded itself in Auron's neck. Years of instinct and a quick reaction time saved his life as he ducked and a bullet sailed just above his head, blowing out his other window. He quickly poked his head up to make sure he was still on the road, and to see who was attacking him. The car, a black SUV, had one man was hanging out the side window, two pistols in hand.

"What's going on? What's happening?" the radio crackled to life.

Auron ducked again as his assailant fired. "They're trying to kill me," he replied simply.

"I'm right behind ya," Wakka replied.

Auron glanced up as far as he could, and could just barely make out another pair of headlights quickly growing larger in his rearview mirror. Despite his doubts about Wakka, Auron felt slightly better knowing he was back there while his tail didn't.

"Good, just do what you can to –" Auron was suddenly cut off by a blinding light. He looked all around him for the source of the light, but found nothing until he looked up to see a helicopter spotlight shining right on his car. "Negative on that, Wakka. Stay back. They've got air support."

"But Auron –"

"No buts," Auron hissed. "There is a way you can make yourself useful and help me. I can shake the tail alone, but I'll need your help with the helicopter. The only way you can help me right now is by staying out of its sight, and away from me. Maintain a visual distance."

Before Wakka could respond, Auron clicked off the radio. Three more shots were fired into his window, but they all missed. He accelerated the car and reached for his gun. A helicopter could mean only one of two things: either Seymour found out who he was and hired men to kill him somehow, or . . .

. . . well, he didn't want to think the second possibility was true.

"Here goes everything."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SINN HQ, rooftop.  
01:31.  
Monday, December 9. _

"What?"

"This means everything."

"Why?"

Rikku, forced to carry a case with an unknown item inside, followed Paine as she opened the door to the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the world. The dome-shaped roof only allowed access on a walkway that went around the edge. Recently swept free of new-fallen snow, it was both wide enough and large enough to allow for easy movement among several people. Up above, around the vertex of the roof, five radar dishes the size of small houses pointed motionless at the orange, cloudy sky. A very large loudspeaker was also on the roof somewhere, broadcasting Leblanc's late-night news broadcast for all on the roof to hear. Both could hear a humming over the slight breeze that was blowing, and down below, they could see the majority of the city of Zanarkand. Small yellow dots moved slowly down straight lines. The city was everywhere. Skyscrapers surrounded them on all sides. To the west, the blitzball stadium was visible only as a silhouette, a haunting reminder of recent events. In the distance, they could see the ocean, slightly glazed over by snow.

"Wow . . ." Rikku whispered to herself as she slowly walked around the roof. Her prior question was forgotten, for rarely had she seen something so mesmerizing.

Paine was unmoved. "Hand it over," she commanded, stretching out her arm for the case after she locked the door to the roof.

As Rikku obeyed, she began to wonder what was actually in that case. For a long time, she had worried that it was another gun, but now that they were so high up and apparently away from any potential targets, she was starting to think that it was a telescope. A strange feeling of calm washed itself over her, and she felt herself relax a little, which was ironic for more than one reason. For almost as long as she could remember, she had been afraid of heights. However, when she was around fifteen, her father had taken her on one of his business trips. And with much reassurance from her father, and several trips like it, she eventually got over her fear of heights.

She was feeling somewhat brave. "You never answered my question," she said.

Paine stopped entering the combination on the case and looked up at her. "What question?"

"Why you do this. Why you kill people."

Paine shrugged. "I thought I had made that clear. Because I can. Because I'm good at it. It's good money. Why does it matter to you?"

It was Rikku's turn to shrug. "I'm just curious," she said. "I thought I was pretty crystal on that too."

Paine smirked. "You were," she replied. "But I don't trust anybody. Ever. Not even you."

"That's crazy," Rikku said. "You're crazy."

Her kidnapper turned back to the case. "Maybe, maybe not," she replied. "Maybe it doesn't matter." She opened the case and produced a dark object from it. "Hold that."

Rikku took the item and examined it. She was right; it was a telescope of sorts. However, it was an odd telescope. And there was no place for a stand or tripod to go. But it definitely was a scope. So that meant . . . oh no.

"Okay. Hand it back."

Rikku returned the scope, and her eyes widened when she saw what was in Paine's other hand: a very sleek and high-tech sniper rifle. It had taken Paine very little time to assemble the gun, and it only took her a second to attach what Rikku now knew to be the sight of the gun. Wordlessly, Paine passed the gun to Rikku, who took it. Shocked by how light it was, Rikku examined the weapon. She was telling the truth when she told Paine that she knew a few things about guns, and she knew this to be the latest upgrade of the PSG1, a semiautomatic rifle first issued a few decades ago.

Rikku looked up and saw Paine watching her, a tripod standing next to her. When she caught Rikku looking up at her, she reached out her hand for the gun, and Rikku gingerly handed it over. Paine took it much more roughly and quickly affixed it to the tripod. She turned back to Rikku upon finishing.

"And now we wait," she said flatly, going to lean against the railing of the walkway, leaning over slightly and studying the scenery.

"Wait for what?" Rikku asked blankly.

Paine looked at her, an irritated expression on her face. "The hit." When Rikku continued to stare at her, waiting for more, she sighed and said, "There's a very narrow window of opportunity on this one, so it's better to be early than late. It's not a dentist appointment, Rikku. You can't reschedule if you're late, and they don't send you an apology in the mail. We have to wait."

Rikku shook her head, taking a moment before she said, "What's worth it?"

"Hmm?"

Rikku gestured to the gun with her hands. "What in the world makes all this worth it? The stress will kill you by the time you turn fifty if somebody else doesn't shoot you first, you know? So what makes it worth it?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Paine's face. "As I said, it's good money," she offered. "It certainly isn't boring work either."

Rikku was silent for a moment before she came to realize what Paine had been trying to tell her all along. "It's what you do."

Paine nodded. "It's what I do."

"May Yevon have pity on you." The words that came out of Rikku's mouth surprised even her.

They failed to go unnoticed by Paine either. "I need to write this down," she said, looking highly amused. "Out of the mouth of an Al Bhed."

"I'll make a deal with you. If you quit, I'll convert," Rikku shot back, extending her hand.

Paine turned back to the city, but not without chuckling a little first. "You're asking the impossible . . . both of me and yourself."

For the next few minutes, both stood in the frigid cold in silence. The breeze had stopped blowing, and now the air was entirely still. The snow had also stopped falling as well, though some rained down from the satellite dishes above. The sky was actually beginning to clear up as well.

Suddenly, Paine reached into her pocket and produced a cell phone, opening it up and staring at it for a second before closing it again and pocketing it. "Here we go."

Rikku just had to ask. "Who . . . who are you killing?"

Suddenly, Leblanc's voice, very excited, came over the loudspeaker. "Here it comes: the van transporting Seymour to the Zanarkand Supreme Court for arraignment. It's about ten blocks away on Yevon Avenue right now."

Paine nodded. "There's your answer."

_"The answer you seek isn't one you are going to want to hear."_

Rikku instantly fit two and two together, though she was having a hard time believing it. Matters were made worse by what Paine said next.

She motioned to the gun. "You said you know how to use a gun. So prove it."

The Al Bhed girl looked up at her in horror, her mouth open. "W-what?"

"He's your right," Paine said. "And in a minute, he's going to be in plain sight. So . . . do it. Kill him."

'But she told me . . . 'I don't think you're the type to kill anybody.', didn't she?'

Rikku stood stock-still, staring from the rifle to Paine as the full gravity of the situation began to sink in.

"Go on. It's ready. He's all yours."

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle.  
01:36.  
Monday, December 9._

"He's mine."

Auron's exit was just over four miles away, and at the speed he was going, it would take a little more than two minutes to get there. He just had to remain alive for two minutes. Thankfully, he could use most of the freeway to dodge and avoid his assailants because, even in downtown Bevelle, the traffic was light.

Ignoring the searing pain coming from the glass embedded in his neck, he ducked down a little bit again and readied his gun. Once the Beretta 92 was in his hand, he quickly looked over at the general direction where his pursuing car was before firing a few rounds in their direction. If he had the time, he would have taken aim at their tires, but that would leave him vulnerable for way too long. All three shots had no effect, proven when his assailants returned fire. Four bullets impacted his car, but all missed Auron. He jerked the steering wheel so that he was in the far opposite lane, away from the pursuing car. Currently, he was going 112 miles per hour.

The pursuers drew close, getting in the lane next to him. It pulled ahead of him slightly, and as they flashed beneath the glow of a street light, he now saw two men hanging out of the side. The second one hung out of the rear window and had a submachine gun. Auron felt a surge of adrenaline at seeing the gunman and knew that this man had to be eliminated immediately. As he saw the man take aim with the machine gun, he quickly empted the remainder of his clip in firing at the man, hoping that one of his shots would be lucky. In reality, two were, and he saw the second man get launched back into the suburban SUV by two shots, one to the neck and the other to the shoulder.

Suddenly, the SUV careened into Auron's car. The gun fell out of his hand as the impact almost knocked him off the freeway. Even over the wind, he could hear his tires squealing in protest. The steering wheel jerked with the impact, and Auron barely managed to regain control of the car in time. His left headlight no longer worked and he knew that the second time, he probably wouldn't be as lucky in staying on the road. Far from slowing down to lessen his risk, however, he sped up even more, inching the struggling car up to 126 miles per hour. The SUV was barely able to keep up, but still it did.

To Auron's horror, he saw the second man reappear with a machine gun in hand. Ignoring the holes in his neck and shoulder, the man took aim with the gun and sprayed Auron's car, apparently trying to shoot out his tires. None of the shots hit his tires, however; Auron swore violently when he felt one of the bullets pierce his left lower leg. He jerked it up instinctively and whacked his knee on the lower part of the steering column, though the fresh pain in his knee was nothing compared to how his lower leg felt. He would have to remove the bullet later.

Traffic was getting slightly thicker now as well as they entered the heart of Bevelle, as was the rain, which was now an all-out downpour. There was a strong headwind, and that coupled with Auron's current speed and the rapidly-intensifying rain made it nearly impossible to stick his arm out to return fire. It didn't really matter anyway, because his gun had fallen out of reach on the other side of the car when he was rammed. He was going to have to outlast them for just thirty more seconds.

The pursuing car rapidly changed to the next lane over, so that there was now one lane separating it from Auron, who was in the far right lane. Both gunmen fired at Auron, but both neglected to see the minivan that appeared between them. It was difficult, both with the rain and the fact that both the SUV and Auron were exceeding the speed of the minivan by about 60 miles-per-hour. The spray of bullets all hit the minivan, causing it to spin out of control. Its front end almost rammed Auron as well, but the man had anticipated what had happened and had hit the gas slightly so that his car barely made it out of harm's way. The van spiraled before flipping over twice and impacting the concrete divider between the two freeways, coming to rest on its left side.

Not pausing to consider the condition of the people in the minivan, Auron slowed back down to about 120, bracing himself for another wave of machine gun fire. As soon as he heard the _ratatatatatat_ of the machine gun, he ducked. This time, the gunman was much more accurate, and had he not ducked in time, he would have been a dead man for sure. When the machine gun quieted, he looked up and aligned his vehicle with the lane he was in again, all the while keeping an eye out for his exit.

Then, he saw it.

He knew he could outrun his pursuers, but that wouldn't completely solve the problem as they would most likely find him again later. However, a sacrificial plan hatched in his head as the spotlight of the helicopter tracking his car passed over another vehicle that was about 500 feet ahead of him. All he needed to see was the red diamond sign that he knew to mean 'flammable' on the side of a silver tanker truck. This, coupled with the fact that Auron's gun had come within reach courtesy of his last swerve, completed his plan. In one swift move, he reached over, grabbed the Beretta and emptied it of its spent magazine. Quickly replacing it with a special clip he kept in between the driver and passenger seat, loaded with several exploding rounds, he held the now-loaded gun in his right hand.

Gunning the engine, he maxed out his speed at 135 miles per hour so that he was approaching the tanker at an even greater speed. Though the SUV could not go that fast, it was still going far faster than the tanker. By the time Auron pulled up to the rear of the tanker, the SUV was about twenty feet behind. Soon afterward, he was almost even with the cab of the tanker. Quickly checking his mirror to be sure that nobody was behind him, he switched the gun to his other hand. He slowed down so that there was a greater amount of time with the tanker between him and his pursuers. He checked again, and could not see the SUV, meaning it was on the other side of the tanker. In the peripheral vision of his one good eye, he could now see the sign for his exit fast approaching.

_ Now._

Auron reared back his right foot and slammed it on the brake. Just before he hit the dashboard, he fired as fast as he could at the tanker. All of his shots found their mark, evident by the intense flash of brightness as the tanker obliterated the entire section of freeway around itself. The deafening blast created a ringing in Auron's left ear and the heat wave that came off the truck at the time of the explosion almost blistered his skin. He just barely registered seeing the SUV get caught in the blast as well. Now going at a more manageable speed of about 90, he jerked the steering wheel to the right so that he would not miss the off-ramp for his exit. And in a flash, his tail was eliminated.

However, he still had to lose the helicopter. But he had a plan for that too. Right off the ramp, a two-mile long tunnel awaited him. He quickly picked up his radio, which had miraculously stayed in place throughout the entire chase, and signaled Wakka.

"Pick me up in the tunnel," he barked. "You'll see me parked a mile and a half into it, on the right side."

"Yevon, man, what the Hell did you do up there?" was the response. "That explosion was really somethin', ya? What was it?"

"Later," Auron growled before killing the radio so he wouldn't have to hear Wakka's incessant questions. "You'll know me when you see me."

The man slowed down to 70 as he cruised the tunnel. He appeared to be the only one inside, save for an electronic construction sign that sealed off the far left lane, along with traffic cones. He would obsessively check his rearview mirror, as if expecting another SUV to come up behind him, but none showed up. He was alone in the tunnel.

As soon as he saw the end of the tunnel about a mile away (the last half was completely straight), he quickly slowed down, turned on his hazards and pulled off to the side of the road. Once he slowed to a stop, he killed the engine and quickly got out of the rental car. Now, he had the opportunity to take stock of the damage caused. Bullet holes riddled the entire left side of the car, some of which came dangerously close to the fuel tank. Mentally thanking Lady Luck for not sending him to the Farplane as he did the driver of the tanker, he roamed around to the front of the car. A combination of steam and smoke rose from the cracks underneath the hood. In addition, he could now survey the extensive damage done to the front of the car when the SUV rammed him. The entire left fender was caved in, and his front turn signal and headlight were completely destroyed.

He turned when he heard an engine revving in the distance. Knowing it was Wakka, he went to stand behind the back of his own damaged car and wait for his partner to pull up beside him. The lime-green Lotus Elise soon came to a screeching halt next to him, and the passenger side window rolled down, revealing a stunned Wakka staring at the car with his mouth hanging open.

"Motherfucker," he exclaimed. "What the Hell happened?"

Auron opened the passenger door. "You drive, I'll talk," he said curtly as he slammed the door and buckled himself in.

"Fair enough," Wakka replied, shifting the car into gear and peeling out of the tunnel.

Upon exiting, Auron was relieved to find that the car passed right underneath the waiting chopper's spotlight without being followed.

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

_ "You know that, even if you kill me, I'll be replaced by somebody with an identical agenda. After all, I chose Tromell to be my deputy mayor for a very good reason."_

_ "Seymour, be quiet. This is your one last chance to change your mind."_

_ "No, I believe it is yours."_

__  
SINN HQ, rooftop.  
01:42.  
Monday, December 9. _

Rikku was on the verge of collapse.

She recalled the time when she would have jumped at the chance to kill Seymour. And now that she was provided with a chance, there was still a small part of her that actually wanted to. She even remembered the conversation she had with her dad while she was on the plane back from Bevelle, about how she wanted to actually bomb the city. She thought she was just venting at the time, but apparently she was more serious than originally thought. Sometimes, one doesn't realize how passionate they are about what they say until afterward. And even then, they were only words . . . weren't they? She didn't know, and that was what scared her the most.

"What are you waiting for?" Paine's icy voice broke through the fog in Rikku's mind. "You don't have all day."

"Paine . . ." Rikku pleaded.

"What would he do if he were in your position?" the assassin continued. "He wouldn't even blink. You'd have been dead a minute ago."

Rikku turned to Paine, summoning what was left of her sanity. "I'm not him," she cried shrilly. "And that's a good thing." Despite her tiny dark urge, she knew what was right.

"Bullshit," Paine spat. "You're being soft and you know it. Now, I'll tell you one more time. Either you kill him, or I will. But if I do it, you're next."

"Now **that's **something I'd like to see," Rikku retorted, surprising even herself. "How many times have you threatened to kill me now, you big meanie? I lost count."

"I would be doing you a service," Paine said, much less harshly and a bit more earnestly. "Believe me, after this man dies, you don't want to be alive."

Rikku stubborn expression quickly changed to one of bewilderment. "W-what? Why not?"

Paine made a crude noise of impatience. "Fuck it. Just get the Hell out of my way. And use these if you want." Shaking her head, she thrust a pair of binoculars at Rikku. "Fucking ridiculous . . ."

Paine literally elbowed Rikku out of her way, cursing the Al Bhed girl under her breath, and positioned herself behind the sniper rifle while her captive, indifferent to her cursing, examined the binoculars. Lifting them to her eyes, she scanned the far shoreline of the city. She could see the hundreds of boats docked in the fishing harbor that was positioned on a little peninsula. Moving right, she felt a chill creep up her spine as the binoculars' field of vision passed over Abes Stadium, now nothing more than a hollow, haunting shell. The wreckage had finally stopped smoking a few days ago.

Rikku drew a deep, shuddering breath, keeping her vision trained on the stadium wreckage before guiding the binoculars down Yevon Avenue. She followed the nearly-empty street until it came to the end of a caravan of cars. They all had flashing lights, and though she could not hear them, Rikku was sure that sirens were blaring as well. Following the row, she counted off the number of cars. She tallied 13 before she saw a large boxlike van in the middle, which she was certain held Seymour. Almost right after she trained the binoculars on the van, the procession slowed to a halt, right outside Zanarkand Supreme Court.

"Come on come on come on . . ." she heard Paine mutter. "Out of the car, right in the crosshairs, you crazy motherfucker."

Snorting to herself at the irony, Rikku did nothing but keep the binoculars trained on the van, watching as the driver and a passenger got out, going around to open the rear doors. She gasped slightly as, a few seconds later, a shackled Seymour was helped out of the rear of the van. The hair was a dead giveaway. He wore a prisoner jumpsuit. Rikku could tell that much. She watched as armed guards circled him, making sure that he was protected from all angles . . . except from above. Almost as one, they began to make their way to the marble court steps.

"No wind . . . in range . . . there we go . . ." Paine said to herself. "You paying attention?" the sudden sharpness of her voice startled Rikku as Paine addressed her, causing the binoculars to shake. "Now you are. This is it, right here. Your just reward."

Who was she talking to, her or Seymour?

Rikku jumped as she heard Paine suddenly fire the rifle. Three shots, all silenced. The gun wasn't as loud as she expected it to be. Rikku waited for what seemed like forever, but nothing happened. She thought that Paine had actually missed all three shots.

Wrong.

She felt a scream lodge in her throat as she suddenly saw Seymour convulse. Once, twice, three times. She couldn't tell what part of his body was hit, but with three bullets, it really didn't matter. He would be dead in a matter of minutes, if he wasn't already. She saw him collapse as the men around him swarmed him, suddenly darting around like wasps whose nest was destroyed. A series of vehicles with flashing lights swarmed the courthouse almost immediately.

"The most hated and wanted man in the world, now just a memory . . ." Paine said as she stood away from the gun. Rikku looked at her, too shocked, too numb to speak. Paine looked at her. "You're welcome."

All Rikku could do was stand there motionless as her shaking hands let the binoculars clatter to the floor.

An echo.

_ "Oh my Yevon . . . loves, he's been shot . . . Seymour's down . . . he's been shot . . ."_

**~~~~~ ZFC 2.7 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand Governor's Mansion.  
01:44.  
Monday, December 9. _

_ ". . . I am a dead man. After this recording leaves my possession, he will kill me. I am not afraid. Life is merely a pause before the Eternal Paradise that awaits all children of Yevon in the Farplane. The events that transpire on this little planet are insignificant and meaningless, just like the people who inhabit it. But Home doesn't understand that. Zanarkand especially doesn't understand, for it is a city cursed by corruption and avariciousness masking itself as virtue and prosperity. They don't understand, and can't understand, everything that I know._

_ "I know everything. I know who you're looking for, I know the motives, I know the crimes, and I know exactly how to lead you to the answers you seek. The question that you need to ask yourself is whether your mind is accepting enough to believe what will certainly be a very hard truth. Because there are worse people on this planet than I, people more devious and more evil. For they play on the trust and title bestowed on them by the people, and hide behind it when suspicious eyes are cast their way._

_ "Trust is something that should be given only to those who deserve it . . . don't you agree? After all, it's a sign of friendship. There are few things worse than betraying the trust of somebody who has given theirs to you. Many, many people, especially people who have been in my position, find this out when it's too late and pay dearly for it, as I am about to._

_ "The answer you seek isn't one you are going to want to hear. But I assure you, every word I say is true. Betrayal is a nigh-impossible concept to bear without some form of retribution. So make no mistake; I'm helping myself just as much as I'm helping you. And who knows . . . maybe with the passing of time and the future's history written, I'll be remembered as a great hero instead of a criminal._

_ "This might be especially true next to the real criminal, a man you have all trusted, called your friend, maybe even had a drink with. He is a man far more dangerous than I could ever hope to be. Power corrupts, as you believe it corrupted me. The motives for our actions are the only difference between him and me. Where I sought to bring good to the world, he seeks only to serve himself, to be the most powerful man on the face of the globe. _

_ "I had absolutely no part in the Stadium Attack that befell Zanarkand. He instead persuaded me to take responsibility for the attack in exchange for large amounts of funding. This gave me the funds I would need to finance my campaign, starting with 687 million gil. In exchange, I would publicly take responsibility for the attack so that his name was cleared of any wrongdoing. And since I was to be in hiding anyway, I didn't see that I had anything to lose. How foolish I was to believe this._

_"On the other side of this tape, you'll hear dated files of his audio journal. The truth you seek lies within its contents. I will not delve into them myself, as he does a much better job explaining his actions than I could. Call me what you want, but I believe betrayal is the greatest sin Yevon can condemn. I betrayed nobody. He, on the other hand, betrayed everybody– you, me, and every human being in Spira. _

_ "Also, I do warn you . . . he plans more attacks. One, in fact, is coming up fairly soon . . . within the first 15 days of December._

_ "I advise that, in the future, you keep a closer eye on the leader of our Intelligence Agency."_

Hands shaking, fighting back waves of nausea at the testimony he just heard, Cid sat at his desk, staring ahead like a zombie. He barely even registered the passing of time. Seconds quickly turned into minutes. He didn't even know when his hands moved to eject the tape and turn it over, replacing it in the machine. He waited for the sound to play, picking up Lulu's letter that he received with the tape, but not really reading it. His eyes saw the words, but wouldn't process them.

_ DEPUTY MAYOR CID, _

_ BE ADVISED: THE NIGHT IS DARKEST BEFORE DAWN._

_ THIS IS FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. COMMIT THE QUOTE ABOVE TO MEMORY AND THEN DESTROY THIS LETTER. NOBODY ELSE IS TO SEE THIS LETTER OR LISTEN TO THIS TAPE, NOT EVEN THE MAYOR._ _ LISTEN TO IT WHEN YOU KNOW YOU'LL BE ALONE. BOTH YOU AND BRASKA ARE IN EXTREME DANGER, AND THERE IS LITTLE TIME TO ACT. CONTACT ME WITH THE NUMBER BELOW IMMEDIATELY AFTER YOU CONCLUDE WITH THE TAPE. _

_Lulu_

_12515519125_

A click._  
_

_"Wen Kinoc's Personal Log. Date . . . November twenty-fourth. Time . . . twenty-two-fifty-seven. . . . The attacks were successful. Mission complete."_

* * *

End Part Two.

The story's plot is now in full swing, almost at its pinnacle. I'm not going to reveal anything at all about chapter fifteen. You'll just have to wait and see for yourself. It marks the first chapter of Part Three, called **City of the Repentant**.

As always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please review.

SirGecko


	15. 24 Hours

Hello all. Only three chapters to go.

Welcome to **_Part Three_** of the Full Circle: _City of the Repentant._

This one is shorter than any chapter since number 10 at 19 pages. But I'm feeling a lot better about this one than I have about the few, so hopefully you guys will like it as well.

Alright; a summary. ALL characters are in this chapter (though LeBlanc's appearance is very short). Even Seymour has a scene. Haha, it's a flashback, but whatever. This is the chapter that will answer a lot of your questions. Not all of them, but a lot of them. And they all center around Kinoc. Elsewhere, Rikku gains her freedom back . . . in a sense. Wakka and Auron are desperate for answers to their problems, and it shows. Cid and Lulu meet on a tentative course of action, neither being sure it will work. Tidus and Yuna deepen their relationship and talk about it before being rudely interrupted with terrible news.

I've said too much. Haha.

Anyway, it's time for the disclaimer and shit.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

**_NOTE: THIS CHAPTER HAS SEXUAL CONTENT._**

Well, I think that does it. No reason to delay you reading the beginning of Part Three any longer than necessary.

**_

* * *

_**

**_Part Three: City of the Repentant_**

_**There is sometimes a moment in life, an infinitesimal moment, that people wish they could take back. Of all the minutes, all the hours, all the days, and all the years that make up a person's life, that one moment consumes, changes and controls them. It becomes their defining moment. It changes their behavior, their personality, and their lifestyle. It controls how they interact with others and the world around them. This one moment occupies them. It consumes them. **_

_**It kills them.**_

_**Salvation lies in peace. Peace with the people whom we call friends. Peace in an environment of comfort. Peace in giving repentance. We must find it in ourselves to forgive what can be forgiven. Forget what can be forgotten. Move on from the past. Focus on the present. Prepare for the future. Life is almost never easy, and nearly always hard. Sometimes, the only thing that makes it bearable is forgiveness.**_

_**Otherwise, there is only pain.**_

* * *

**Chapter 15: Twenty-Four Hours  


* * *

**

_**(Assassination minus two hours)**_

__  
Harbor View Regional Hospital.  
23:29.  
Sunday, December 8. _

Zanarkand seemed possessed by an even greater sense of urgency than was normal these past few days. Traffic had gotten worse, people were less friendly, and more and more found themselves constantly looking over their shoulder. It was as if the city itself knew that there was something still wrong, and that something awful would happen. It seemed to be trying to prepare itself, to lessen, as much as possible, whatever damage might be caused.

The joy felt at the news of Seymour's capture was gone almost as suddenly as it had come, as though it had been a huge dose of ecstasy. One or two nights of rejoicing, followed almost instantly by the same aura of paranoia that gripped the city before he was captured. Even the news that Blitzball would be continuing shortly hadn't cheered people up much. This was significant, considering just how popular Blitzball was in Zanarkand. The weather also seemed to be playing into the uneasy feelings. Storms were on the horizon once again, and the ZRD was preparing itself to battle the feet of fresh snow that were to fall in the next few days.

Inside HVRH, in patient room 669, all this passed by unnoticed. It was as if the walls safeguarded anyone inside from all the effects of the outside world. Whatever it was, the world still turned a full circle and people adapted to the tension as they went about their business, both in and out of the hospital. In the meantime, the most hated man in the world waited patiently for his doctor to return with the results of what he thought was a most unnecessary checkup. The wounds he suffered in Cometia had been treated and cleaned so that, aside from the blemishes on his face, he looked completely normal. He sat on the patient table in a brand-new navy suit, staring out the window at the gently-falling snow. Snow was a rare sight for him, as he had rarely ventured outside Bevelle, a city where it almost never snowed.

Even so, he knew that the evils of mankind still lurked among nature's beauty. Out there, millions of Al Bhed were going on with life as if they had nothing to repent for. Their sympathizers were screaming for his death. His city and his life were in ruins because of the pro Al-Bhed sentiment that was currently sweeping the globe, largely because of Zanarkand's influence in world politics. It infuriated him that such an isolated, naive city, headed by an even more naive and incompetent mayor, managed to command so much power and influence in the rest of the world. Home may be full of heathens, but they mostly kept to themselves. Zanarkand fueled the ludicrous idea that they were harmless.

Ah, but such was life. Maybe Yevon had different plans.

A knock on the door sounded. "Enter," the man said softly, not turning away from the window even as he heard the door open and close.

He already knew who it was. The doctor would not be back for another ten minutes at least, and there was only one other person that his armed escort would allow through the doors while he was here.

Seymour still didn't move. "I can only pray that you have a good reason for betraying me in front of the DASC," he said quietly.

The new Mayor of Bevelle stepped forward. He was shaking his head. "**You** betrayed **me**, Seymour," he replied. "You betrayed us."

"'Us?' Who is 'us'?"

"Bevelle."

"I don't follow."

Tromell moved to sit on the tiny padded stool opposite Seymour. He stared hard at the other man, who continued to avert his gaze to the snow falling outside the window. They sat there for some time, neither willing to break the tense silence. Seymour felt his leg falling asleep, but he didn't move it. Both were stock still. Each was waiting for the other to speak first. It became an intense stalemate.

"Have you been to Bevelle since you left?" Tromell finally grew tired of waiting.

Seymour finally moved his head to glare at his former friend. "I can't say I've been afforded the opportunity," he said pointedly.

"If you had been, you wouldn't have wanted to go anyway, isn't that true?"

"I still don't follow."

Tromell sighed, shaking his head. "How could you have not seen that by declaring war against the Al Bhed, Bevelle would turn on itself?" He paused, continuing once Seymour adopted a confused expression. "You have a powerful majority and a reactionary minority, the Yevonites and the Al Bhed sympathizers, respectively. Mix in a few moderate Yevonites, and you have three different groups of people, already separated by strong convictions. When you left, those who sided with the Al Bhed began to riot. The hard-line Yevonites retaliated in kind with even more violence, and that left the poor people who are torn and confused between human rights and your loyalty caught in the middle. So they lash out at both sides just to defend themselves.

"The city that you love so much is dying as a result of your extremism. You incited three groups of people to fight each other for entirely different reasons, and left me there to watch it happen, powerless to stop it. In the meantime, you have united Home and Zanarkand so that their ties with each other are the strongest they've ever been. It is impossible to beat them together. Even though Luca's remaining neutral militarily, it's clear that their support is with Zanarkand and Home.

"That leaves our dying city friendless and alienated. And my first priority is to protect and defend the city that I love and lead. That's a bit difficult to do without a little help from the outside. At the same time, I was close to you, that is, before you declared war and hid. So you tell me, Seymour, just what I was supposed to do. Tell me how I wasn't the one who was betrayed."

Seymour sat in silence, listening, rocking his head back and forth in a nod while not really agreeing or disagreeing with anything that Tromell was saying. He could tell that the other man had been mulling this over in his head for a very long time. However, he was angry at the way his old friend had conveniently reworded the events so that they were all spun against him. Had Tromell forgotten the Al Bhed Propaganda Machine? The talks they had held about solving the problem? That their loyalty to one another was unbreakable?

Apparently.

"I'll ask you one question before telling you what you want to hear," Seymour finally said. An annoyed look crossed Tromell's face, but he kept silent and waited for Seymour to continue. "When I spoke of 'eliminating the Al Bhed problem,' what did you think I was talking about?"

Tromell took his time in answering. "I didn't think you were talking about genocide," he said slowly. "In all actuality, I assumed you'd take more indirect methods. Something like discreet coercion, since we do supply Home with many resources. Cut off their supplies, get them to pay attention to us."

Seymour looked taken aback. "Those are schoolyard politics," he replied scornfully. "An 'I'm-not-your-friend-anymore' type game."

Tromell's gaze grew hard. "Do not think for a second, Seymour, that I sympathize with the Al Bhed," he lectured. "I don't like them at all. However, I don't think killing them all is the answer. If anything, they should be pitied, not destroyed. They are heathens, on that point I agree with you, but there's still a chance for them to be led back to the righteous path."

Seymour was shaking his head. "None of them understand," he said, breaking into a low chuckle. "Least of all you." Tromell said nothing. "But . . . I suppose that's just the way it's meant to be. Right or wrong, I'm going to die in the next 24 hours." His gaze snapped to Tromell, who looked only slightly surprised at Seymour's words. "Does that please you?"

Tromell answered the question with one of his own. "Why would it please me?"

Seymour dodged the question. "I have already confessed the entire truth, including the identity of the man I collaborated with. It's now in the hands of a young attorney. I only pray to Yevon that she'll be wise with the information." He paused, smiling. "Even he didn't remember that I don't go into business with somebody without finding out their dirty secrets. My betrayal to him ensures my death . . ." he trailed off. "But I am not afraid. In reality, I'm proud to die a martyr." Tromell began shaking his head. "To answer your question about Bevelle's current state . . . I was fully aware that this would happen. But we die for a good cause. They and I are part of a greater sacrifice, all for a people and world that exists at the behest of Yevon, our God."

A grin spread across his face as Tromell stood up and left the room without a word. Seymour watched the doorway for a few seconds before he turned again to stare out the window at the gently-falling snow.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

**_(Present)_**

__  
Zanarkand, Shot Glass Lanes.  
03:03.  
Monday, December 9. _

The warm sights, smells and sensations of the bowling alley greeted Cid as though he were returning home after a lifetime away. The place was almost empty at this very early hour; however, the bar was almost packed. Most of the activity was concentrated there. Otherwise, the arcade, pool room and lanes were vacant. He could see flashing in the arcade room, games displaying demos for nobody to see. A half-finished pool game rested on one of the tables; the players had abandoned it some time ago. The smell of cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, and the aroma caused Cid's own cravings for a smoke to enter his head.

_"This was obviously the work of an expert marksman, somebody who was very familiar with the security details of Seymour's transfer. We're still waiting for word on the ballistics test to determine just what weapon was used to kill him and from how far away it was fired. We should have that information in the next few hours. In the meantime, we turn to O'aka . . ."_

The two big-screen TVs in the bar were tuned in to SINN, which had been covering Seymour's assassination since the very second that it occurred. It was only an hour and a half later, so there was still very little known. In fact, many still seemed to be absorbing the fact that he was indeed murdered. All the public knew was that he was dead, and with it, their hopes of official vindication for his crimes (though some weren't bothered by this, so long as he was dead). Much of Zanarkand had stilled the same way it did after the Stadium Attack: people were home, glued to their TV screens, waiting for any word as to who killed the terrorist. Even more curious than the question of who killed him was why he was killed.

Cid, on the other hand, had no reason to listen to SINN or Leblanc, as he would be informed of new information well before the same information was released for the public. Instead, he was disturbed for an entirely different reason. He had no idea why Seymour had been killed, but he certainly knew **who** had killed him. Or at least, who had ordered him killed. And now he feared for his own life. Lulu was obviously taking precautions as well, as this meeting had been arranged under very secret circumstances. She had sent him an e-mail with no ID, only the address of the bowling alley, and a time (three a.m.). He had no idea what the meeting was about or how he would recognize her arrival. At least, Cid had assumed that Lulu was the one who had sent him the e-mail; there was no way to identify its source. To be sure that it wasn't a trap, four undercover police officers, posing as league bowlers, were watching for anything out of the ordinary.

Before he had entered politics, he was an engineer whose favorite hobby was bowling. But that had been almost fifteen years ago. Now, as he stepped onto the alley floor, he momentarily forgot about all his worries and uncertainties. The old memories of his days in Home, going to Dusty Bowl to roll a few games and down a few pints almost every night, came rushing back as his eyes rested on his old, dusty red ball and equally dusty shoes. He missed the 'good old days.'

"All right, let's see if I remember how to play this game," he told himself, picking up the ball and getting into his approach stance.

Five slow steps, a high swing, and a smooth release. It felt perfect right up until he let go of the ball. His release, though smooth, was too late, and the well-oiled lane carried his ball too far to the right before it hit the dry part 40 feet from where he stood, and only hooked back slightly to knock down the rightmost three pins.

"Shit," he muttered. "It's been awhile."

Upon his ball returning, he threw again, this time clearing out five more. The two left standing were swept away by the rake as a new set was brought forth. Emitting a huge sigh, he downed the rest of his pint of Al Bhrewed, his favorite beer, and picked up the ball, which was streaked with oil. Scowling, he went to his bag to see if there was a rag stuffed in the bottom. There was, and after shaking off the dust, he used it to wipe his ball clean. He took a minute to prepare his next shot, aligning his right foot so that it was between the center dot and the one to its left. This time, he knew it was a strike. He could feel it after the ball rolled off his hand. Sure enough, after a smooth curve and an abrupt hook back to the pocket, all ten fell with that satisfying crash of ricocheting pins.

"Nice throw."

Cid was jarred from the slight high he felt at remembering how to throw such a beautiful shot by the voice behind him. Wheeling around, he saw a woman that looked very much like Lulu. Her hair was a dark maroon red with violet streaks in it, and she was dressed much differently. Rather, she was in a very tight fitting olive-colored spaghetti strap top, shorts and flip-flops. Her hair was pinned by a glittering flower hairpin on the side and done up in a ponytail at the back. She wore no make-up, and if this was indeed Lulu, it would be the first time in his life he had seen her without her stark purple lipstick and eye shadow.

Cid stared her up and down, from the colorful hair to the shirt that seemed to be struggling to hold her bust, to the black polyester shorts that barely covered half her thighs. He raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two cops who were not currently bowling watching Cid and the woman intently.

"'The night is darkest before dawn'," he said hesitantly.

"On a hot summer night," the woman replied. "Hello Cid. It's good to see you." Cid said nothing, continuing to stare her down, just to make sure that she was the real Lulu. "Like what you see?" she asked flatly, taking off her flip-flops so that she was barefoot and going to sit down on one of the plastic seats used by bowlers waiting their turn.

"Uh . . . yes," Cid said seriously, unable to think of a different reply.

"Pssh," Lulu said. "I hate them," she added, referring to her breasts by nodding down at them.

"I'm sorry," was all Cid could say in response. He tried to ease the awkwardness with a compliment. "Well, you look, uh, great."

Lulu shook her head. "No worries. If you're staring, then it's a good thing," she replied. "Nobody ever thinks I dress like this. And since I dyed my hair, it would take more than one look for anyone to really recognize me. It's a costume, really. A disguise. So I always do my level best to dress professionally. But tits sometimes come in handy for a few things other than sex. So I figure, if Yevon should curse me with them, then I'll use them to my own ends." She paused, and added as a coy afterthought, "Besides, all the four-star hotels are booked, so you're out of luck."

Cid looked affronted. "Hey now, just because I'm a man doesn't mean I need to prove it with you," he retorted.

Lulu laughed. "It's still legal for me to have a sense of humor," she replied. "However twisted. But . . . to business." Suddenly, she jerked her head forward in an abrupt nod, motioning to the lane behind Cid. "Bowl. We'll be less obvious that way. You can multitask, right? Sure you can."

The bittersweet lightheartedness that seemed to temporarily wash over the two at their casual banter disappeared as quickly as Lulu adopted her serious expression. Cid turned wordlessly around and readied another shot as Lulu watched. He threw the ball and nailed another strike.

"You listed to the tape, right?" She asked upon his return to the tile. Cid nodded. "Seymour's confession **and** Kinoc's audio log?" He nodded again. "And does Braska know?" He shook his head. "Good. Bowl another."

"Where are you hiding out?" Cid asked, almost positive he wouldn't be told the answer.

He was right. "Somewhere secret," Lulu replied. She waited to continue until he came back from his next throw, which was his third strike. "I'm just low-profile enough to be able to disappear for a few days. Unfortunately, that's not the case for you. As long as you're in the media spotlight, you're in danger. And if you hide, he'll know you're onto him, and will surely find you. And kill you."

"So I'm fucked either way," Cid uttered irritably as he once again removed the oil from his ball with the cloth. "Why the hell did I even bother coming here?"

Lulu's eyebrows rose. "I didn't say you were fucked," she countered. "I told you what's most likely to happen in case you hadn't considered it."

Cid just grunted. She gazed at him, almost innocently, but daring him to respond hotly, as he was known to do. However, he just sighed and turned to throw his next ball. Lulu smiled, slightly swaying the leg that she had crossed over the other one.

"I have a meeting with him early tomorrow morning," he said slowly as he was approaching the lane to roll again. "It was supposed to be last night, but with his order to the SIA to move Seymour at the last minute, he told me he had matters . . . to attend to . . ." He stopped mid-throw and turned to Lulu, a horrified expression on his face.

She merely nodded. "So now you realize . . ." she trailed off. "But now the question is: why would Kinoc want to off Seymour? I had been thinking about that for a while before I came here."

The short, bald man gulped. A wave of shame washed over him as he recalled a certain meeting he had attended some days ago.

_ "Cid, the deal I spoke of is already in the works. You're here so you can be filled in, and so I have your support. I called Kinoc here so you two would have a chance to get acquainted."_

_ "Acquainted? What for? . . . Could somebody start making sense here before I go out of my goddamn mind?"_

_"All right. I'll just cut right to the chase, if that's what you want. Kinoc and I have been working closely together to solidify Zanarkand's future. By that, I mean we've been working behind the scenes, taking what some may call extreme measures to ensure the safety and economic stability of this city."_

_ "Whoa whoa whoa, hold it right there! What do you mean by 'extreme'?"_

_ "I suppose there's . . . really no delicate way to say this. . . .We're going to take Seymour out."_

Cid let out a huge sigh, shaking his head. This was ridiculous. Braska's motives and Kinoc's motives were completely different. There was no reason to compare Braska or himself to Kinoc.

All the same, Lulu wasn't going to hear a word of it. He abandoned all pretexts of maintaining a front and elected instead to just sit at the computer seat, staring at the monitor that displayed his current score.

"And . . . ?" he asked, waiting for her to continue.

"I don't buy for a second that it was a revenge assassination on the part of the Al Bhed," Lulu continued. "The timing is too suspicious."

"Agreed," Cid replied. "Besides, Braska wouldn't stand for that crap. He'd cut off Home like that." He snapped his fingers loudly.

"I keep coming back to the most unpleasant answer," she went on as though she hadn't heard, "which is that Kinoc somehow found out about the true confession. Which probably means he's after me next. Maybe you and Braska too."

Cid looked perplexed. "How would he know that?"

"I don't know." Lulu shook her head. "But that's what is scariest about that son of a bitch. You know that he had me interrogate Seymour for information, right?" Her expression suddenly became much less calm and much more troubled.

"I knew he had you involved in some way with his capture," Cid said. "Isn't that illegal, though, if you're going to be the prosecuting attorney?"

She sighed, shaking her head again. "That's what I thought too."

It was at that point that the full gravity of the situation hit Cid like a sucker punch in the gut. Kinoc had indeed altered the law. Only a few days ago, he drafted modifications to the DASC Codes for Prisoner Treatment and Due Process, though Cid had yet to read the changes. That must have been one of them. But even more than that, it just showed how much Kinoc could do while nobody was watching. He was the most powerful man on the planet next to Braska, whose implicit trust in the SIA had allowed Kinoc to do whatever he wanted without fear of being caught.

"Seymour told me just before I left Cometia that 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend,'" Lulu said softly, almost dreamily. "As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. If it weren't for Seymour, we wouldn't know any of this. And Kinoc would continue to plot."

"That motherfucker didn't do anything unless he benefitted somehow," Cid said tersely. "I want to know what's up the corpse's sleeve."

Lulu frowned. "One eight ball at a time, Cid," she said. "You said you had a meeting with him tomorrow morning?"

Cid nodded. "Yeah. Six a.m."

Lulu sighed, readying what she was going to say next. "I have a meeting with O'aka half an hour before that, at the SIA as well. I called it to discuss the plan of action now that Seymour's dead. In reality, I'm going to have him listen to that tape as well. So it will only be us three that know about it."

Cid had his doubts about O'aka listening to any sensitive information to begin with. However, he didn't bring that up. "But if you're supposedly hiding from Kinoc, doesn't hosting a meeting in his office building sort of reveal your location? How the Hell is that supposed to make sense?"

"True," she nodded. "But he personally cannot arrest anybody. Only his field agents and the police can, and if he tries to arrest, I'll release the tape. I made a copy of it and it's at my house, locked away in a secret place. Besides, if he's going to kill me, it will probably be before tomorrow morning, so hiding will be a moot point by then," she added, trying and failing to sound upbeat.

"True," was all Cid said to that. "What about O'aka? He's a cop."

"A stupid cop," she scoffed. "Stupid cops are very untrustworthy. Nevertheless, he's the only one other than Braska with a security clearance that extends all the way to Kinoc's office," Lulu said. "I'm going to have him arrest Kinoc."

Cid had to laugh. "You're screwing with me, right? Arrested? Kinoc?"

Lulu's gaze hardened. "Rather kill him, would you?"

"I damn well would," Cid replied hotly. "If he's evil enough to allow and encourage Seymour to kill my people while he killed even more, then he deserves one to the head."

"I agree, but in due time," Lulu persisted. "And at the hands of the law."

Cid slammed his fist on the computer console, causing it to shake and Lulu to jump. "And what the fuck is the legal system going to do besides let him walk?" He hissed. "You can't expect to have a fair trial with him alive. We kill him, we release the tape, and it's done, Lulu. Over. Finished! There can't be any plea agreements or undisclosed payoffs if he's dead. If he's alive, the trial will be over before it's begun. You won't be able to do a thing, just like I know you couldn't do a thing once Kinoc told you to interrogate Seymour. For fuck's sake, he's sucked you in once already!"

Lulu had, for once, been stunned into silence. Cid took advantage of this.

"As long as the system you work for and defend is broken, your good intentions won't amount to shit," he continued, looking more adamant than angry. Kinoc will walk free, and you damn well know it. You're good, Lulu, I'll give you that, but trying to take down the SIA director by yourself, without any backup plan or alternatives, is going in WAY over your head. And if your ego is too large to see that, then god dammit, I'm going back to my fucking game."

Lulu blinked, letting the fuming man's words spin around in her mind as they processed. As much as she didn't want to admit t, Lulu knew that he had a valid argument. She kicked herself for being so stubbornly loyal to a government that had shown nothing but a world of lies. And before Cid voiced doubts to the contrary, she had indeed envisioned herself convicting Wen Kinoc, propelling her to intercity fame by solving the Crime of the Century. She would be the top choice high political office, even Mayor of Zanarkand once Braska's term had expired. And Kinoc would rot forever behind bars.

Too good to be true.

"A compromise, then," Lulu said at last. "You want to scare him at your meeting by waving a gun in his face? Feel free. You and Braska can talk that out once he's fit to know all this. But before you do any of that, hold Kinoc there until O'aka can arrest him. Shoot him in the legs so he can't run, for all I care. I just want to hear what he has to say. Can you do that for me?"

Cid did not answer right away. He mulled it over in his mind, weighing the proposition against his own plans for revenge. It was starting to seem more and more legitimate as he gave it more thought. And though he may not get to kill Kinoc right there in the SIA, he would try to at some other time. He had no regard for his position as Deputy Mayor of Zanarkand. Both for personal reasons and others, he would be the one to kill Kinoc. He had to.

"Fair enough," he finally said.

Lulu nodded. "I'm glad you agree. Now, I'll be going." She quickly got up and put her flip-flops on. "This will all be over 24 hours from now," she said. "We can hang in there that long." She strode away.

"And I'm not to tell Braska about any of this?" Cid called as she was retreating. "Even though his daughter was . . ." He trailed off. "Lulu!"

But she had already left, leaving Cid to bowl his remaining six frames in troubled silence.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle, 137th St.  
04:16.  
Monday, December 9._

"Auron, when in the Hell are you going to tell me what's going on, huh?"

"When it's appropriate."

Wakka sighed in frustration as they stood waiting for the subway to arrive. Auron was poring over a map of the city with Wakka was standing irritably at his side, his arms crossed and an iced coffee in his free hand, also staring at the map. All he knew was that Auron was not leaving the city until he found what he was looking for. Wakka had no idea what this was, and he had been trying to get Auron to spill for the last three hours. Their conversation in the car had been brief, as Auron quickly recounted what had happened during the chase. However, he had been reluctant to tell him much more than that. Wakka **did** manage to find out that Auron was no longer employed by the SIA and that he was, more or less, a vigilante. Wakka's suspicious look afterward had pretty much convinced Auron that it was too risky to reveal anything else to Wakka.

"There's only one other place it could be . . ." Auron said, more to himself than to his partner.

Wakka sighed, knowing that he'd get nowhere by asking "What?". So instead, he asked, "Where?"

"The Mayor's Tower." He paused. "So, that's where we go now."

Wakka almost spat out the mouthful of coffee he had just sipped at the thought of visiting the Mausoleum that the highest office in Bevelle had now become. Once again, his brain began trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. The earlier phone call that he had gotten from somebody in the SIA, informing him that Seymour had been assassinated, did not seem to surprise Auron in the slightest. In fact, he looked as though he was expecting it, even though it redoubled his efforts and concentration to find what he was looking for. What was Auron hiding? What did he know that Wakka didn't?

Was Rikku okay?

His main focus was on the mission, of course (whatever it was), but when his mind was allowed to wander, it always drifted to her. He had no idea why he thought about her so much. After all, he was a firm believer in the Teachings of Yevon, and she was Al Bhed, part of the sinning race. So his attraction to her was, to say the least, unusual. Then again, being trapped inside the stadium together and helping one another was also unusual, more so than his attraction to an Al Bhed. That aside, he was worried about her. He could tell that she was most certainly at that bar against her will, as if she had been forced to go there. She was also the Deputy Mayor's daughter.

Now, he was grabbing for straws. But to him, it made sense. With Seymour's death added into the equation, he was certain that Auron had something to do with her disappearance, or at least knew something about it. Maybe she had been kidnapped by the government and forced to kill Seymour because of the meeting she had with him a few weeks ago. No, that was crazy.

Actually, not so much.

'Oh my Yevon,' he thought. 'I'm losing my frigging mind!'

"Subway's here," Auron grunted, jerking his head at the approaching train.

Five minutes later, they boarded the subway and were bound for downtown Bevelle. This was the sixth time tonight that Wakka had been on the subway and his third time downtown. As he sat, he habitually put his hand into his pocket, and felt the card-key he had taken from Auron's safe poke his hand. For some reason, other than Rikku, it was this card-key that perturbed Wakka the most. Why did he have it, and what could he possibly use it for?

Their ten-minute journey took them underwater, across the many rivers and canals that had been carved into the peninsula that Bevelle was nestled upon. They could just barely make out a fake glow above them, the many lights of the city. Inky blackness surrounded them on all sides otherwise.

Minutes later, they had arrived, and both he and Auron exited the subway and ascended to the virtually deserted streets. For once, it was not raining. Downtown Bevelle was, as of very recently, the safest place in a city that had recently become almost as dangerous as Home was. The now famous Bevelle-Seymour Riots were still going full force in other areas of the city. A fire truck, three police cruisers and two ambulances suddenly whizzed by them, sirens announcing their arrival long before they were seen. Once again, the two were alone on the block, the closed businesses dimly lit. Some had "Yevonites Only" signs in their windows, and many of those that did had large holes and cracks in the glass where people had stoned them earlier in the night. Smoke rose in the distance from virtually every direction. A street lamp flickered nearby.

Like its former leader, the place seemed dead.

"This way," Auron muttered, taking off at a brisk pace with Wakka following.

Wakka couldn't resist asking again. "Man Auron . . . tell me what the Hell's goin' on, ya? What's at the Tower?"

"Answers," was all Auron said. Wakka sighed irritably.

On the way to the tower, they passed only two people: a bum with a huge, dripping cut on his forehead, and a short, wiry-haired businesswoman whose eyes were darting around her as though looking out for hiding attackers. They both stared wide-eyed at Auron and Wakka as they passed, as though fearing the two men would attack. They passed one another without incident.

By now, they were within sight of their destination. Just as they stopped and prepared to scope out the building, the heavens opened up in a torrential downpour. Taking no notice of this, Auron pulled out a pair of binoculars from one of the many pockets on his trench coat and peered into them. Wakka could tell that he was having a great deal of difficulty making anything out in the darkness and the rain. After a minute or so, Auron passed the binoculars to Wakka, who leveled them with his eyes. Though he could barely see anything, the lights at the entrance to the tower cast their glow over numerous security guards. There were at least a dozen of them. Searchlights had been affixed to the building a few stories up, sweeping the surrounding ground and buildings around the tower within a fifty-foot radius.

"Man, we can't sneak in there. We'd be spotted in nothing flat, ya?" Wakka said, handing the binoculars back to Auron.

"I wasn't planning on sneaking in." He turned to Wakka and took them. "Are you prepared to do what is necessary?"

Wakka shook his head. "Man, I dunno what the Hell's going on anyway. I'm here to help you, ya? So that's what I'll do."

They began walking toward the tower. "Your job is to get us clearance to the Mayor's office. If all goes well, this should be simple," Auron said. "Word shouldn't have gotten around that I'm not affiliated with the SIA anymore."

"What if it has?" Wakka asked.

Auron was silent for a moment, before saying, "Do what is necessary."

_ Kill to live . . . _

The security camera that had previously been affixed to the entrance had been removed, replaced by the guards who were looking Wakka and Auron over. Wakka took them aside and conversed with them in hushed tones for a minute before both guards nodded and the door opened. Auron didn't acknowledge the guards at all, instead walking straight into the lobby in order to quickly get a feel for his surroundings. Quickly he counted them– nine additional guards, one in each of the four corners of the room, two on either side of the elevator, and three behind the registration desk. The lobby was now considerably brighter in terms of lighting than it had been when he snuck in last time. However, sneaking wasn't necessary now, which was good, because Wakka was right– it was impossible.

They approached the desk, and a guard came to greet them. "I'll need to see identification from both of you."

"We're here to run a routine inspection of the Mayor Office," Auron said curtly. "ID isn't necessary."

"It is now," the guard replied just as curtly. "New orders down from the boss. IDs please."

"He's with me," Wakka cut in, handing over his ID card. "If I clear, so does he."

"Sir, with all due respect–"

Wakka quickly flashed his badge and rank bar. "Is there a problem now?" he asked curtly.

"Not if he shows his ID, there isn't."

Auron knew that the first of many moment of truths had arrived. He looked at Wakka and nodded his head curtly so that he would back down. Even though he had handed in all forms of identification when he resigned, he always kept duplicates of everything that he could, and that included his ID card. He was very proficient with computers, and was able to create a valid ID on his own in the time he had spent with the SIA. Quickly reaching into one of the inner pockets of his trench coat, he produced his card as Wakka did the same. They handed them over and the guard took them, walking over to the other two guards so that they could be entered into the computer.

"What about that card you told me to bring from your safe?" Wakka whispered.

Auron shook his head. "That's for something more important."

"We're in trouble, ya?" Wakka hissed. "If we get caught, I'm up for Treason!" He made a motion to indicate lynching with his fist and facial expression. "Auron . . . is it worth it? Really?"

Auron looked hard at him. "If you have any loyalty whatsoever to the agency you work for, you'll agree that the truth is more honorable than living under the guise of a lie."

"Hey now, I just asked a question, ya?" Wakka snapped. "Don't question my patriotism."

"Hmph." Auron paused. His demeanor grew softer. "Questioning the things you believe in most is one of the hardest things a man can do," he said. "But sometimes, it is necessary. Soon–"

"Your IDs," the guard said, having returned to address them. "And the key card you'll need to access the 40th floor. Take that elevator in the back all the way to the top." He walked away, having given Wakka the card and his ID.

When they arrived on the top floor, they were surprised to find that there was absolutely nobody in Seymour's office. However, Auron noted that the place looked markedly different from the last time he had been here; to be specific, much more cluttered. Loose office papers were everywhere, on every table, on the desk, on the floor, as though it were an old-fashioned press room just after a sweep of breaking news. The plants drooped, and the bar was ransacked (no doubt the investigating team felt no shame in helping themselves to Seymour's booze). This wasn't important, though. Rather, the computer that still sat atop the desk was the most important thing.

Quickly, Auron moved to it and booted it up. Wakka moved to stand next to him and watch. When asked for a password to log onto the computer, Auron looked around him for the piece of paper that he knew the technicians had used to note all the pedigree security information. He typed in the password (1952513152118) and waited for the desktop screen to appear. He didn't have to do a full-system search in order to find the file; he had simply planted the files in a place where they were unlikely to be found. Running the search, he quickly located them under Program Files in the video game program that he had previously downloaded them to. Clicking on the main file, he was asked for his password, which he entered.

** [D E N I E D]**

"As I thought," Auron muttered. "They did find the time to remove all my computer security clearances. Probably thought that was enough . . ." He was talking to himself. "Wakka . . ." He turned to his partner. "I'll need that card now."

"What? Oh, yeah."

Wakka fished into his pocket and produced the card that he had taken from Auron's safe. Auron in turn brought out a USB cable and a port for the card. Hooking them up, he inserted the card. When prompted, he typed in a password and waited for the computer to respond. Finally, it did.

_ "Welcome, Jecht."_

Wakka's jaw hit the floor. "But . . . how? He died over three years ago!"

"Long story," was all Auron said. At Wakka's impatient expletive, Auron elaborated. "Jecht was the best in the SIA at manipulating computers, much better than I ever was," Auron began, "He made duplicate copies of everything he owned pertaining to the SIA. But he kept this a great secret. He trusted me only and left me with his technology. When it came to his work, he was very shrewd and cautious, even if he was cocky otherwise. Skeptical of everyone. **I** was the one who trusted Kinoc." He snorted. Wakka gave him an odd stare. "One of his most prized possessions," Auron continued, pulling a flash drive from his pocket, "is this. It's a random number generator that can run every possible sequence of passwords between five and ten digits long in just under five minutes."

"Whoa, that's totally wicked," Wakka replied, a distracted look on his face.

Auron gave it no thought as he loaded the flash drive into the computer. "All right, here we go."

He opened the password windows protecting the files, all six of them. Activating the random number generator, he began the password sequence. Numbers flashed by on the screen so fast that Wakka at first thought the program had a defect. However, the first password screen disappeared in about ten seconds, soon followed by the second, leaving four to go. The next three followed a minute later, and the final one, which ended up taking the longest to crack, went down in two minutes. All the time, Auron and Wakka watched in silence.

"What now?" Wakka asked.

Auron didn't respond. Instead, he accessed the decoded file, which was a text document.

_**** Accounts from period of 10/23 - 11/22 ****_

_Account # 1012200131405 Beginning Balance: 314,910,802,430 gil_

_ 10/27 581,332 gil – *****_

_ 11/22 687,000,000 gil – *****_

_ Remaining Balance: 314,223,221,098 gil_

_Account # 1012200392205 Beginning Balance: 923,001 gil_

_ 11/22 687,000,000 gil + *****_

_ Remaining Balance: 687,923,001 gil_

_Account Holder Official Summary as filed with Acct Manager:_

_ On day 23, October, purchased two (2) Stinger Missile Launchers at 160,000 gil per item. Purchased three missiles at 44,000 gil per item. Total acquisitions amount to 581,332 gil after handling and fees, to be paid for in full from a secure offshore account._

_. . . _

_ From North Harbor of Zanarkand; 22:30 local time;_

_ fire two missiles into stadium;_

_ first target hits Al Bhed Players' bench;_

_ second target hits Top Box, [CRUCIAL TARGET];_

_ Elimination Goal: Daughter of Zanarkand's current mayor _

_. . ._

His mind on autopilot, Auron immediately pulled out his cell phone, which was still secure from wiretaps, and quickly dialed his home phone. Eyes wide and alert, he glanced around the room, as though searching for any intruders. The phone rang four times before the answering machine picked it up.

Auron turned away from Wakka and began his message speaking in an urgent whisper. "Tidus, if you're there, pick up the phone right now. This is extremely important." Silence. "I don't care what you're doing, pick up the phone." Still nothing. "Dammit, Tidus, where's Yuna? She's–"

"Turn it off," Wakka cut in.

Auron turned to cast him an angry glare, but stopped when he saw a sight that was becoming a little too familiar for his liking. All the same, he was shocked to find that his partner was standing away from the computer, pointing his sidearm straight at his face.

"It's time you listened to **me**, ya?" he said. He sounded fearful. "Drop the phone."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Ocean Shores Hotel.  
05:02.  
Monday, December 9. _

Her briefcase and satchel were packed. Her bed was neatly made. The room was entirely spotless. Nothing looked out of place. Well, nothing except for the tangle of sheets that cocooned Rikku, who was sleeping as restlessly as she had for the past few nights. Paine cast a glance around the dark room, and even though it was dark, she could see remarkably well. Her gaze rested on the table, upon which was a note, a tape recorder, and a gun, and Rikku's cell phone. Those would stay. She had another gun in her satchel anyway.

"Now, we shall see . . ." she whispered. Then, she turned and left the room without another word.

Rikku woke with a start, having just had a very peculiar dream. In the dream, the room was neatly made and ready to be vacated, except for the fact that she herself was still sleeping. Paine was standing over her, watching her sleep before she glanced around the room, gaze lingering on the table. Some objects rested on it, but she couldn't really make them out. And Paine had spoken, in a voice too quiet to be audible. Now, in reality, Rikku opened her eyes, rubbing them and letting her vision adjust as she looked around the room.

She screamed.

The room was exactly as it had appeared in her dream.

Heart rate rapidly quickening, she catapulted herself out of the bed and quickly searched the room for Paine, but she was nowhere to be found. All of Paine's belongings were gone as well. It was only after finding that she was the only occupant that she actually looked at the table. Resting on it was a tape recorder, a note, her cell phone and a gun. Slowly, she reached for the tape recorder and the note and picked them up, carrying them over to her nightstand, where she turned on the light and hit the play button on the recorder.

_ "Your targets will be on the 71st floor, in the SIA conference room. Pose as a security guard; your gear will be at the usual exchange point under the Mason Bridge. Your payment will be quite generous, as these are very high-profile targets. You'll also find half the payment at the exchange zone, standard notes equivalent to 1,500,000 gil. It must be done during the meeting held in the conference room." The voice was intentionally distorted._

_ "Time and date?" Rikku recognized this voice as Paine's._

_ "The tenth of December, at oh-six-thirty. You'll have a fifteen-minute window of opportunity."_

_ "And the rest of the payment?"_

_ "Wired to your secure account upon the elimination of the attorney and the Police Chief. Your second set of targets will be on the top floor, which you'll be granted access to with your gear. You'll see them sitting when you arrive. You'll also receive a generous bonus if you eliminate their daughters."_

The words she had just heard echoed in her head as she numbly read the note.

_Rikku, your crossroads has arrived. With that gun, you have three choices. You can hunt me down and kill me, thus shattering any innocence that you still have. Or you'll fail, and I'll kill your uncle and your father, then come after you. Or, you can kill yourself, sparing yourself the pain of having to kill anybody else. Over the next 24 hours, the choice is yours. I look forward to seeing you again, living or dead. _

_ ~ Paine_

Something inside her head snapped. All common logic, all basic simple thought, disappeared from her mind. In that moment, she was as emotionless as Paine. Even though Paine had left, Rikku was no less a captive than when the assassin was there. The mental strain of the last five days had caught up to her. This was it. She had reached her breaking point.

Even as she got up off the bed and slowly walked over to the table, she wasn't exactly aware of it. She felt as though she were possessed, controlled by something other than her own mind.

In a way, she was.

She picked up the gun and the magazine that lay next to it. Sliding the magazine into the handle of the gun, she armed it and held it in front of her. Her right hand clasped the handle of the gun while her left hand supported her right, cradling it like one would cup water in their hand. It did not shake. This was good. She was no sharpshooter like Paine was, but a steady hand would go a long way.

If Paine thought she wasn't willing to kill under any circumstances whatsoever . . .

Picking up and turning on her cell phone and turning off the safety on the gun, she quickly exited the room.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Bevelle Mayor Tower.  
05:13.  
Monday, December 9._

Auron stared uneasily at the gun in the other man's shaking hands. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Wakka began shaking his head, licking his lips nervously. "I've been asking myself that since I got on the plane, ya?" he said. His voice had become slightly more high-pitched. "And I finally figured it out. I'm committing treason. I just figured that I owe you one for what you've done for me in the past, ya? That's why I agreed to help you with whatever crusade you're on. I had my doubts but I kept my mouth shut, you know? But this . . . Auron, you're crazy, ya? And I'm arresting you."

"Does this not bother you at all?" Auron asked him, gesturing to the computer with a quick jerk of his head. "You read the same thing I did."

Wakka's eyes were darting everywhere, as though fearing a sneak attack. Auron's calm demeanor was apparently exacerbating his nerves. "I dunno anymore Auron," he said. "But I do know that this whole thing is illegal. And if I get caught, I'll be charged with treason, ya? That means death, Auron! Don't you understand that?"

"And looking at that document, you don't think that Kinoc's going to try to do this again?" Auron countered, voice still calm, but now very direct and showing signs of irritation. However, he kept his hands in the air. "You serve an organization whose very premise is to follow a written code of public service and protection. Kinoc obviously has other ideas. You and I need to act with this information **now.** We need to assume this will happen in the next 24 hours."

"But you found that on Seymour's computer, ya?" Wakka argued.

"I put it there!" Auron shouted. Wakka's eyes widened. "I thought I told you that. My mission just before the Stadium Attack was to put an encrypted file on Seymour's computer. I assumed there was espionage on Kinoc's part, but not of this magnitude, and certainly not to favor a madman like Seymour. Factor that in with the Stadium attack and Seymour's crusade. The man was a nutcase whose ambitions had no traction. No traction until he had money. Didn't you hear the news reports? Almost 700 million gil misplaced by the SIA."

"T-that doesn't prove a thing!" Wakka retorted, attempting to sound firm, but failing.

"You damned coward," Auron snapped. "The money talks, Wakka! There are no coincidences. You know that better than most. The attack obviously failed, and then Yuna's cousin disappears." Wakka's eyes widened, and Auron continued. "Don't think I haven't heard you talk to yourself. You do it quite often." His voice softened, almost to a whisper. "Fit it together. You know that the facts lead to one conclusion. Accept it. The SIA **is** directly responsible for blatant anti-Spiran terrorism, and this is the proof."

Wakka began shaking his head again. His arms jerked as if to lower the gun, but it remained leveled at Auron's chest. "But why, Auron? Why would Kinoc do that?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Auron said. "And now that you know all that I do, you have a choice. You can help me expose Kinoc, at great personal risk to your own career and life, and save Yuna's life and possibly many others." He paused. "Or . . ." he lowered his hands and extended them in Wakka's direction. "You can arrest me. Choose quickly."

For a moment neither moved. Their arms were extended toward each other, ironically as if for a hug. Wakka's eyes darted from the gun, to Auron, to the computer right behind him. His hands shook even more.

"If we live through this . . ." Wakka started. "Will you do me a favor?"

"If I can."

"Help me find her, ya?"

Auron took no time in answering.

"Agreed."

"All right then."

Finally, with a great sigh, Wakka lowered the gun and approached Auron. He stopped just inches from his face.

"All I can say is that, for both our sakes, you'd better be right about this," he said softly.

"I know."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 78th St.; Apartment 202.  
05:20.  
Monday, December 9. _

Yuna's eyes fluttered open at a soft touch against the back of her neck. Just as quickly as she registered the feeling, it was gone, but then came back at a new spot on her neck, this time near her collarbone. Groaning softly, she shifted so that she could roll over to see what it was. As she turned, her head ran against Tidus's, and she then knew that it was his lips that were caressing her neck. She smiled and shifted so that Tidus could bury his head in the crook between her head and left shoulder. Tidus shifted too, and she felt his rigid length poke her leg gently.

Immediately after feeling it, her brain cried out for more sex. The sensation, the rush of hormones was irresistible, as it had been every time before. Once again, she felt herself caving to the primal demand as she slowly moved so that she could straddle him. Bending down and kissing him fully as he entered her and began to slide in and out, she moaned into his mouth and pressed herself as close to him as she possibly could. Tidus ran his hands up and down her back gently. Every time they had sex, he became gentler. She sat up and tossed her head back as Tidus reached up and softly squeezed her breasts, completely lost in the ecstasy. Her sharp, high-pitched moans matched his long, low ones, becoming yet another song. It was the most erotic sound he had ever heard. The blood pumped in their ears as beads of sweat began to appear on their foreheads.

Unfortunately, all good things had to come to an end. A few minutes later, just after she came, Tidus's own moans became quicker and shorter. She quickly pulled herself off and began masturbating him until, with a final groan, he spent himself all over her chest and thighs. With a slight shudder, he rolled away and collapsed next to her on the bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly due to his heavy breathing.

Still aroused, she bent down to whisper in his ear and slid on top of him so that her wetness was slicked up his leg. "What a way to start the day," she breathed. His shaft was still in her right hand, and she was massaging it gently.

"You're amazing," he said, still out of breath. "Fuckin' awesome. I've been owned."

Yuna smiled. "I can't help it. You taste delicious."

"Fuck!" Tidus blurted, rocking his head from side to side. "If you keep saying shit like that, I'm gonna want to fuck you again. And right now I don't think I have the energy."

She laughed. "That's all right. I'll watch my mouth."

She could feel her own arousal slowly ebbing away, but she didn't mind terribly. She moved her hand from his crotch to his hair, where she started running her sticky hand through it. Now, something else was on her mind.

She waited a few minutes before asking, "Tidus . . . what are you doing with me?"

A confused look crossed his face, and he propped his head up so he could see her better. "Huh?" he asked.

"I mean, you can have any girl you want, really," she said. She was still toying with his hair. "You know that. You haven't known me all that long. Then again, you didn't know any of your other girlfriends all that long, I would assume . . ." She trailed off, glancing down at Tidus. Brought back to reality by the worried look on his face, she quickly said, "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Really. I'm just so happy that I'm here."

"All I did was screw them," Tidus said bluntly. "That's it. That's all it was, for both of us, I think. They just wanted me 'cause I'm popular and good at Blitzball. They're hot and like to party. It worked, you know?" He looked at her and smiled. "But you're way hotter. And cooler, 'cause you're not bitchy." He went on. "And I'm not just dating you so I can screw you. You know that right?"

"Mm hmm," she said. "Just as long as we're about something more than that, I'm okay with this. I'll have you know that the last day has been the best time of my life." She put her hand on his face gently, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "Besides, I don't want to worry you. You look like you need a cigarette." She burst out laughing at the bewildered expression on his face. "It's a joke. You know . . . after sex, the guy has a smoke and the girl takes a bath?"

"Uh, sure," Tidus agreed, though he still looked just as confused. "Anyway, yeah. I thought we could, I dunno, take a walk or something later," he muttered, as though he thought she would consider it a bad idea. "I know it sounds lame and it's cold out . . ."

"Shhh," she said gently, putting her index finger to his lips. "I'd love it." She bent down to kiss him.

Just as their kissing once again became heated, both were startled by the phone ringing. Naturally they ignored it, letting the answering machine in his room pick it (he would often give the home number to any girls he met, just to piss off Auron). After five rings, Auron's curt recording ("You've reached apartment 202. Leave a message and I'll return your call.") sounded before the beep.

Again, they heard Auron's voice. Only this time, he sounded frantic.

"Tidus, if you're there, pick up the phone right now. This is extremely important . . . I don't care what you're doing, pick up the phone. . . . Dammit, Tidus, where's Yuna? She's . . ." This was followed by at least ten seconds of silence, and an indistinguishable voice in the background. Then the line went dead.

Yuna stared, troubled, at the answering machine, rolling over onto her own side of the bed and drawing the covers around her as she began searching for her cell phone. Neither said a word for quite some time. Then Tidus reached over the bed for his own phone and flipped it open, turning it on. Just as he was about to replace it again, it rang in his hand.

"Private," he muttered to himself. "Who the fuck is that?" He brought it to his ear. "Yeah, Tidus." There was a pause. "Whoa, slow down, woman! What did you say?" Another pause, considerably longer this time, until, "Yeah, yeah."

He put the phone on speaker.

"Yuna, it's me, Rikku," said a small voice on the other end of the line.

Yuna looked instantly concerned. Her cousin **never** called her by her real name. "Rikku? Is everything all right?"

"I . . . don't know," she said. "Are you safe?"

She cast Tidus a worried look, and he shrugged and leaned in closer to the phone. "Yes. I'm at Tidus's. What's going on, Riks?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then, "There's a woman. A woman named Paine. She's coming to kill you!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.1 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SIA HQ.  
06:01.  
Monday, December 9._

Waiting 10 years was nothing. Waiting another 24 hours would be excruciating.

Wen Kinoc paced around in a circle in one of the many open areas of his huge 121st floor office. The major events of the last three weeks were running through his head as he paced, over and over again. Things were going so great until he had Seymour captured. That was a risky move on his part. He had hoped that Seymour would cooperate, and therefore be allowed to be convicted with a life sentence, which would be the ultimate display of his and the SIA's efficiency. Then, Seymour would 'escape' in a transfer to a maximum-security facility that was organized completely independent of the SIA. That way, Kinoc could continue to use him as a fall guy for whatever attacks were to follow, while staying away from the blame that would fly toward whomever was responsible for his escape. Unfortunately, Seymour was a pushover. Kinoc knew he talked. So, there went that idea . . .

Other people were easy to blame. Especially as Wen Kinoc.

There was a certain part of him that felt bad for betraying Braska. Death was a very harsh betrayal, to be sure. However, it really was for the greater good. The way Braska was managing foreign affairs and economic policy . . . Spira as a whole had peaked, but would soon begin its gradual descent into a dramatic, fiery demise. Anarchy and chaos would reign throughout. Kinoc could not allow that to happen. Braska was too naive and trusting to efficiently lead the DASC, and way too soft when it came to dealing with enemies.

But he would make it all work.

Yuna's death would, over time, bring Braska to trust Kinoc more, as he would reassure him that whomever was responsible would be brought to justice. He would grow close to the Mayor and his friends, and get him just close enough so that he could assassinate him before he could even figure out that he was betrayed. Then, he would become the head of the DASC, and dedicate the rest of his life to restoring the balance between present and future.

He sat down at his desk, and began to record using his little handheld recorder. "Wen Kinoc, personal log. Time is oh-six-oh-four. The men are all in position here. Their infiltration will ensure a rapid crackdown on any threat to the Greater Plan. Seymour has been eliminated so that he cannot spread the truth any farther than it has already gone. The remaining players requiring elimination will be neutralized by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow." He paused.

"Signing out . . ."

* * *

Alright, so what did you think of the start of part three?

The action will reach its pinnacle in the next chapter, and last until the end of 17. So here's what to expect come chapter 16, which will be titled The Event Horizon. I will be brief to build suspense:

. . . Rikku races to track down Paine . . .  
. . . Auron and Wakka take on the SIA . . .  
. . . Lulu hides and obsesses over Kinoc's downfall . . .  
. . . Cid and Braska have a meeting, one hiding a very unpleasant truth . . .  
. . . Tidus and Yuna meet up with Rikku . . .  
. . . Kinoc instigates unthinkable betrayal . . .  
. . . Paine plots to complete her task . . .

People die. Chaos ensues.

Okay, the usual stuff now. Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please, please review!

I don't know when chapter 16 will come, but it will. So until that time, you all take care of yourselves.

SirGecko


	16. The Event Horizon

Hey everybody. I hope you're all doing great. And I return with chapter 16! This might very well be the longest one yet, at 24 1/2 pages, and I would also say that it's probably my most intense chapter in quite some time.

Anyway, who's in this chapter? Everyone. Tidus, Yuna, Wakka, Lulu, Auron, Cid, Kinoc, Braska, Rikku, and Paine. Lulu has the smallest role in this chapter; Auron and Rikku have the largest. A brief summary: Rikku finally meets with friendly faces, and in doing so, realizes how damaged she has become as a result of the traumas she's experienced. Auron and Wakka prove Kinoc's shadiness before Auron goes after Paine. Wakka gets closer to Rikku, who eventually gives them all a big scare. Auron, in his pursuit of Paine, is helped out by an unlikely guest. And all eventually wind up at the SIA.

I probably said too much, but oh well. We roll with it.

I have one anonymous reviewer to respond to:

Thanks for your kind words and support. I'm glad you liked chapter 15. No happy endings in the story? Well . . . I suppose I would have to say that depends on your definition of happy. And that's all I'll say about that. :)

Alrighty then! In the true spirit of predictability and ass-covering, here are the disclaimers and such.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

**_(Also: note that from this point forward, all chapters WILL contain strong language. But hey, if you've gotten this far, it's probably not an issue.)_**

Alright, I think that's enough of that. Strap in and enjoy chapter 16.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 16: The Event Horizon

* * *

**

__  
Zanarkand, the Starfire Nightclub.  
07:11.  
Monday, December 9. _

The blaring music beat against Rikku's eardrums, the bass' deafening pulse compressing all of her fears and worries into a little ball inside her brain that literally burned when she thought of it. She sat at the bar, an untouched orange juice resting on a bright pink napkin in front of her, a pineapple stuck to the rim of the glass for extra flair. A neon green straw poked through the ice in the drink. Colored lights danced over every solid surface in the room, and a disco ball bounced and diffracted the light in all directions. The air was sultry, smelling of a mix of many different colognes and perfumes mixed in with body odor. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like thin wisps of fog.

Even though it was right in the middle of the Monday morning rush hour, the place was packed. Several times, nervous boys had approached her for a dance, but she turned them all down with a quick jerk of the head, or by completely ignoring them. She would have jumped at the chance to dance a week ago. Now, however, she trusted nobody. In fact, the only reason she agreed to meet Tidus and Yuna was because she was absolutely certain that it was Yuna she had spoken to on the phone. She had asked her personal questions that only the two of them would know. Moreover, she was in a very crowded place.

The things she had seen would take quite a toll on the human psyche. In fact, Rikku was completely surprised that she had not snapped and gone insane under the strain. But no, for some reason, she felt oddly safe.

Perhaps it had something to do with the gun in her pocket.

On one hand, she could not wait to see her cousin. It seemed like ages and ages ago that they had spent an evening together. Back when their lives were normal, they had made a habit of getting together in the evening a few times a week, usually in Yuna's spacious bedroom. They would talk about nothing and everything, usually just life and how it was going for each of them. Sometimes it would last late into the night, far beyond the times they were supposed to go to bed (which they never adhered to anyway). And even then, Rikku would sometimes collapse on the couch, still fully clothed, and wake up the next morning sprawled on the floor with a stiff neck.

_ Rape._

_ Kidnap._

_ Torture._

_ Panic._

_ Murder._

How could she ever be the same again?

A man who looked to be about 20 came up to her and offered her his hand. "Excuse me miss, would you–"

"No, thanks," she said, cutting him off.

"B-but–" the man blustered.

"My date will be here soon," she lied. "Go away."

"Oh . . . sorry," he said, sounding hurt and walking away. Rikku didn't care.

Before managing to get through to Yuna, she had tried several times to get in touch with her dad or Braska, but neither were answering their private cell phones. She knew they were out of town right now, and wasn't sure when they would be back. According to Paine's message and Kinoc's recording, it would be sometime between now and this time tomorrow. But she knew she couldn't wait that long to find them. Her right hand clutched her cell phone like a grenade, willing to feel it ring in her hand.

"Rikku!"

This time, it was a different voice. She looked up and saw her cousin slowly making her way toward her, trying as hard as she could to push past the dancing people. Rikku leapt from her stool, spilling her drink on the way, and began to fight her way toward her, not caring to be gentle with the people who were in the way (mostly girls in leather miniskirts and tube tops that were designed only to reveal what would otherwise be left to the imagination). They gave her nasty looks as she pushed through them, but she paid no attention to that either.

"Yunie."

When Rikku finally managed to get to Yuna, she leapt at her and flung her arms around her older cousin, as though she was marooned at sea and Yuna was a life raft. Yuna's eyes widened in shock as she staggered back, almost losing her balance, but then returned the embrace, hugging her cousin tightly. Rikku could feel tears spilling out of her sullen eyes and onto Yuna's big black coat, but she didn't care. Yuna either didn't notice or didn't mind Rikku's crying as she, they, just held on, as though they would never see each other again.

"Rikku . . ." Yuna gasped. "I can't breathe."

"Oh," the other girl hiccupped. "S-sorry, Yunie." She slackened her grip and pulled away.

Yuna's eyes suddenly widened again. "Are you okay?" Rikku shook her head as if to dismiss the question.

Yuna's gaze swept over her cousin. She had never seen Rikku in such a sad state in her life, what with her messy hair, pale skin, tear-streaked face, and extremely dirty clothes that she had been wearing for the last five days. She did not fail to notice that the crotch of the jeans was torn.

". . . what happened to you?"

Rikku suddenly became interested in a couple making out next to them on the dance floor. "Let's get out of here," she said airily. "Hey, where's Tidus?"

"Outside on his cell phone, trying to call his guardian," Yuna said. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," Rikku said distractedly, suddenly leaving and making her way for the door. Yuna followed, an ever-growing suspicion festering in her mind. "Come on!" came a shout from the doorway. She followed.

They emerged into the early morning, the biting cold attacking their exposed flesh the instant they went outside. The sun was still hours from rising as the morning rush hour was in full swing, cars lining the nearby street as far as they could see. Exhaust rose from the back of many of them, their wipers routinely sweeping away the snow that collected on their windshields. It was snowing quite hard, as the first of their new battery of snowstorms was upon them. Horns honked every now and then, the impatient drivers seeming to think that would actually speed up the traffic.

They found Tidus on a street corner, huddled in a phone booth and talking on his cell phone. As they approached, he looked up and nodded to them, then turned his back to them as he continued his conversation. In the meantime, Rikku pulled out the cassette recorder whose contents contained Paine's conversation.

"Listen," Rikku said, pressing play on the device and holding it up to Yuna's ear.

Yuna seemed confused by this sudden demand, but said nothing and obeyed. As Yuna listened, her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration, Rikku watched as her cousin's face went from one of concentration to one of confusion, followed by disbelief, and finally stark fear. She began shaking her head violently, as though trying to literally shake the thoughts out of her head. Wrenching the cassette player from a surprised Rikku's grasp, she rewound the tape and listened to it again. Rikku just watched, darting her head behind her every few seconds as if paranoid of a surprise attack.

"Where did you get this?" Yuna asked quietly. Her voice was trembling.

Rikku shook her head. "I don't wanna talk about it now," she said. "I just know it's real."

"Rikku . . ." Yuna trailed off. "Please. What happened to you? Where have you been the last five days? How did–"

"Please Yunie, don't–"

Rikku's plea was cut off by Tidus, who had emerged from the phone booth and tapped Yuna hesitantly on the shoulder, still holding his cell phone.

"Auron wants to talk to you," he said to her. As he handed her the phone, he muttered a "'sup'" to Rikku, who waved feebly back.

"Hello?" Yuna said.

"Yuna." Auron's sharp voice sounded. "Where are you right now?"

"Um . . ." She trailed off, looking at the nearby street signs. "On the corner of Jefferson and 44th," she said. "Why?"

"Making sure you're not at home," Auron said. "You're not safe there." He went on to fill her in on what he and Wakka had discovered in Bevelle on Seymour's computer.

"I– I was just meeting my cousin Rikku," Yuna said. "She more or less told me the same thing."

Yuna could feel her heartbeat rapidly quickening. In what was surely not a coincidence, Auron was calling her to tell her the same thing Rikku's tape had. When it was just Rikku saying that somebody was out to kill them, on some level, Yuna had a hard time believing that this was so. Now, however, it was beginning to sink in. And even more than that, there was Rikku herself. There was something . . . she just wasn't the same person as she was the last time Yuna had seen her.

Panic was starting to grip her as her cousin and boyfriend eyed her apprehensively. "W-what should I do?"

"You said Rikku was talking about the same thing?" Auron asked, sounding curious. " How does she know anything about this?"

"Is Rikku there?" Another voice had cut in sharply. After a second, Auron repeated the question to her.

"Yeah, she's right here," Yuna replied. "Want me to put her on?"

"Do." Yuna passed the phone to Rikku, who took it after a moment's hesitation.

"Hello?" she asked timidly.

"Rikku, it's Wakka, ya?" The phone had evidently been switched on their end as well.

Rikku's heart leapt a little. "Hey Wakka," she said, smiling for the second time since she had seen Yuna. "What's up?"

"I was going to ask you that too. Stop the mind games, ya?" Wakka chided, laughing. He always had a way of sounding cheerful, even if there was nothing to be cheerful about.

At Rikku's mentioning of Wakka's name, Tidus jerked his head up from where he had been staring uncomfortably at the ground. "Whoa, who?" he asked.

"Tidus, shh," Yuna said quietly.

"What the fuck is Wakka doing with Auron?" Tidus asked, getting agitated. "After she's done, I'm talking to them. This is fucked up."

Rikku had taken no notice of the side conversation. "Well . . ." she wasn't really quite sure how to answer Wakka's question.

Wakka saved her by cutting in. "Well . . . Auron and I dug up some pretty serious shit," he said. "Hey Auron, is Tidus's cell phone secure?"

"Yes," Rikku heard him say. "Everything we own that's electronic is secure."

"Good. Yuna needs to know this too," Wakka said. "So, why don't you guys . . ." he trailed off, thinking hard.

"There's a coffee shop next door," Rikku offered. "It's called Cuppa Joe's Mojo. We could go in there and find a corner where it's quiet. I could put you on speaker-phone and we could talk there.

"How many people are in there?" Wakka asked.

Yuna looked in through the windows caked in snow and ice. She could barely make out any details, but could still tell the state of the place. "It's pretty empty," she said. "Maybe half a dozen people in there."

The other end of the line muttered for a moment before they heard Auron's voice. "I don't like it. Too risky," he said. "We may be overheard."

"We'll tell you what. Head back to my apartment, ya?" Wakka chimed in. "Ti knows where it is. He has a key too. Auron and I will meet you there at two-thirty or so; you'll be safe there."

"Uh . . . okay," Rikku said.

"Hang in there kiddo," Wakka said, smiling through his words. "Talk to you soon. Tell Ti I say hi."

"Yeah," Rikku replied quietly. "Hey . . . thanks a lot for caring. It helps, you know?"

"Sure thing." Wakka sounded much more serious now. "See you soon." The line went dead.

Rikku turned to Tidus. "We need to go to Wakka's," she said. "He wants us to wait for him and Auron there, okay?"

"Whatever," Tidus muttered. "I can bitch him out then."

"For what?" Yuna asked.

"Nothin', nothin," Tidus said, obviously wanting to avoid the topic. "I'll tell you later."

"Well, we'll have plenty of time at Wakka's," Rikku said, looking to Yuna for support, who only nodded uncertainly. "How do we get there, Tidus?"

"We have to take a cab, 'cause that's how we got here," Tidus said, waving his pointer finger between himself and Yuna. "Yuna didn't want to go in the corvette because she said I suck balls at driving." He smirked at Yuna, who moved to hit him.

"Ah!" she laughed. "I said no such thing!"

Yuna linked her arm with Tidus's. She wanted him close to her; he was comforting to her. Tidus was very good at lightening the mood when doing so seemed impossible, and that was one of his qualities that she was growing to love more and more. For a moment, she actually forgot that somewhere out there, somebody was out to kill her.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

Paine stepped out of Cuppa Joe's Mojo with a simple iced chocolate mocha in her hand, replacing her palm pilot in her satchel. She looked up just in time to see a girl who looked suspiciously like Rikku hop in a taxi with another boy and girl before it sped off down Jefferson Drive. She saw what looked like the same T-shirt, anyway. However, she only caught a split-second glimpse of the girl, and even then, it was from the back. Still, the clothes and the hair looked awfully similar . . .

Shrugging, she paid no more attention to it as she hailed her own taxi and left the area.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand International Airport.  
13:33.  
Monday, December 9. _

The coffee shop in the airport was always insanely crowded at this time of year, so much so that a claustrophobic person would not be able to handle it. However, with all the noise, the chances of being clearly overheard were slim to none. That was why Belgemine had told the agent to meet her there, but now, he was three minutes late. Considering that she had checked the arrival times for planes flying in from Bevelle, which said that his flight was supposed to arrive early, this troubled her. But, she reminded herself, it was only three minutes. She was just obsessively punctual. Being the Deputy Director, she had to be.

As if Yevon had granted her an answer to her worries, two people approached her table. She recognized both of them at once, but the other man was a surprise.

"Wakka," she said professionally, getting up and extending her hand. "Please sit." She turned to Auron. "I didn't expect to see you here, Auron. Didn't you resign? And . . ." she paused, seeing the congealed red liquid on Auron's pant leg. "What the Hell happened to your leg?"

"Long story," Auron nodded. Belgemine raised her eyebrows, expecting an elaboration, but he did not give one. "We have some very sensitive information on the Director."

At this, Belgemine's expression became incredulous. As she was a woman of business and rules, she turned to Wakka, as though looking to him as a more credible (employed) source. Not once had she heard about anything shady regarding her boss, but then again, few people were so adamant to talk with her when it came to important issues, her boss being a rare exception. The two men had also insisted that their meeting not take place at the SIA. Admittedly, it was her curiosity that drove her to the airport more than anything else.

Auron wasted absolutely no time in getting to the point. "The Stadium Attack, and Seymour's crusade . . . Kinoc was directly involved with both," Auron said. "He masterminded the stadium attack and provided financial support for Seymour's agenda."

If it were possible, Belgemine looked even more wary and incredulous. "This is a very serious allegation," she said after a moment. Stating the obvious was a polite way of hinting that she thought you were crazy. "And I hope to Yevon you have proof."

Wordlessly, Auron produced his laptop and a flash drive, quickly pulling up the documents he had retrieved from Seymour's computer. He rotated the laptop so that Belgemine could see it, and she bent closer for a better look.

"You can check the records; Kinoc sent me to Bevelle to plant those documents on his computer," Auron explained. "That's where we just came from. We had to retrieve the documents before they were lost, so we'd have the proof you demand. Seymour was Kinoc's puppet, a fall guy so that he would be in the clear. Having one of those missiles kill the entire Al Bhed blitzball team was a brilliant way of disguising this as an attack motivated by religious sentiment, and that is what these documents prove."

"Also, the millions of gil that went missing from the SIA . . . right there," Wakka chimed in, pointing to the record. He seemed to be having an easier time accepting the situation now. "The numbers match, ya? Look at the accounts."

Belgemine was silent as she stared intently at the computer screen. Her facial expression did not change. The only movement on her person at all was her eyes, scanning over the statement over and over again. Then, her fingers started to drum on the table. For what must have been five minutes, she just read and reread the statement, muttering excerpts from the document on occasion ("Six-hundred-eighty-seven million gil . . . ").

"Auron . . . you do know that, as a private citizen, acquiring this document was highly illegal." Belgemine said quietly. It was not a question.

"Yes."

"I could have you arrested for slander, perhaps espionage." She turned to the other man. "You too, Wakka. Plus the fact that you **are** employed with the SIA. I could probably level treason on you as well." Both men were silent. Wakka shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Belgemine trailed off in thought. "However, the source files . . . there's no denying they're from the SIA. How sloppy . . ." She pulled out her cell phone.

"Who're you calling?" Wakka asked.

"The DA's office," she replied, placing the phone to her ear. "Lulu might be able to give me some guidance on what to do. Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate it. I'll be in touch. You are dismissed, both of you." She got up and moved away, having connected her call.

After they had left, Wakka turned to Auron. "Well, that went well, ya?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It did," Auron replied, not the least bit sarcastic in his answer. "She's a tough sell. Kinoc's the only one to whom she answers, and she respects him a great deal. The fact that we got her to listen is a big step." Wakka nodded. "And now, I imagine you want to see Rikku. Let us go."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 4178 Monument Way.  
14:10.  
Monday, December 9. _

For a brief period, the sky was a lighter shade of dark. Snow was still falling, though not as heavily as it had for the last few hours. Inside Wakka's apartment, the furnace and TV were on. Tidus was currently mesmerized by a sitcom. Yuna and Rikku were also staring, but none of them were really paying attention to the program. Tidus kept fidgeting in his seat. Yuna kept checking her watch. Rikku would constantly look around her, as if hearing noises other than the furnace and the TV, at which point Yuna would stare at her with pointed worry, and Rikku would avoid her gaze and stare at the couch, and Tidus would snap out of his trance and stare at the both of them as though just realizing that they were there, and the cycle would repeat. It was very unpleasant.

Rikku had eventually brought herself to tell them nearly everything about her time with Paine. She explained, in as much detail as she could remember, about how they were always on the move to avoid detection, how she had tried and failed to escape by totaling Paine's sports car, and the horrible consequences that followed. How she was told to kill Seymour. How Paine would always take great pleasure in toying with her mentality. Then, as further proof, she again played for them the tape that Paine had left her and showed them the note as well.

She was eerily calm throughout the entire thing. In fact, she appeared the calmest of the three. Yuna abandoned Tidus's side to go sit and comfort her cousin throughout her explanation. She only asked one question; she was otherwise quiet. Tidus didn't say a word. He just sat uncomfortably until the part in the recording when Paine's boss talked of eliminating Yuna and Rikku, at which point he looked genuinely worried. Neither of them really knew what to say after Rikku had finished, and they fell into uncomfortable silence once again. Rikku had left out the part about being raped.

That had been three hours ago.

The door suddenly burst open and Wakka and Auron stepped into the room, shaking the snow off their coats and hurriedly closing the door. Both instantly moved around to the windows, closing and drawing all the blinds. Tidus and Yuna looked at them apprehensively; Rikku just got up and hurried from the room. Just as a door down the hallway slammed, Wakka and Auron finished drawing the curtains and shutting off the lights. Auron, meanwhile, had taken out some sort of wand-type instrument and was sweeping it around the room, up and down the walls and over the furniture before disappearing down the hallway. Wakka had moved over to the sound system he had set up in the kitchen, and cranked the volume on the rock station the radio was set to. Wakka eventually made it back to the living room, and turned to sit down on the couch facing Tidus and Yuna.

"Yuna, good to meet you, ya?" Wakka piped up just loudly enough to be heard over the music. She nodded to him, smiling weakly. "Tidus, 'sup bro?"

"Nothin," Tidus muttered, averting his gaze.

Auron limped into view from the hallway. "Damn this leg," he growled, not acknowledging Tidus's surprised look. "The place is clean, Wakka. Turn off that music." When the apartment was again silent, Auron turned to Yuna. "Does anybody know you're here?" She shook her head. "Good."

"Is Rikku okay?" Wakka asked her.

"Well . . ." Tidus said, scratching his head uncomfortably and looking back to where Rikku had disappeared.

"She told us about what happened . . . to her," Yuna said. "She never did say how, but apparently she was kidnapped by an assassin named Paine, who's working for someone who wants to . . . wants to kill us and our parents." Now she sounded fearful. "Who would want to do something like that?"

Auron ignored her question. That name . . . it was so familiar. And for good reason; it only took him a second to place it with a face.

_ "So, can I buy you a drink or are you going to be a stiff about it?"_

He swore vehemently. "I know her," he said.

The other three pairs of eyebrows in the room shot up. "What?" Wakka said sharply.

"All of you. Sit down so I can explain. You too, Tidus," he added when he saw that he was giving him a hateful look. "You need to hear this too."

"Fuckin' right I do," Tidus muttered, taking Yuna's hand and sitting close to her on the couch. "How the Hell do you know someone who wants to kill Yuna?"

Auron was prevented from answering his question due to a sharp squeal from down the hallway. All four snapped their heads in that direction, and silence fell in the apartment once again until they heard the sound of running water. Other than that, they heard nothing more from that direction. Worry was etched into both Wakka's and Yuna's faces, while Auron looked mildly curious and Tidus looked almost scared.

Suddenly, Wakka got up. "I'm gonna go see what's up, ya?" he said. "I'll be right back. Go ahead and start without me, Auron."

"Wait a minute," Auron said, but Wakka paid no attention.

He disappeared down the hallway. The bathroom was out of view of the living room, so he could no longer see Auron, Tidus or Yuna. Now that he was closer, it sounded as though Rikku had started up the shower.

"Rikku?" he called, tapping on the door. "You decent?" There was no answer. He rapped harder. "Hey, are you okay?" There was still no answer. Now he tried the doorknob, but as he suspected, it was locked. "Hey, answer me, ya?" When he was yet again greeted with silence, he grew very worried and began pounding on the door. "Rikku!" He shouted, the door now shaking under his fist every time he pounded on it. There was still no answer. "Fuck this," he growled, stepping back and priming his shoulder to be used as a battering ram. He thrust forward, breaking through on the first run.

The whole bathroom had begun to steam up, and he didn't see Rikku anywhere. His immediate feeling was one of relief, because he didn't see any blood anywhere either. To be sure, the place was exactly as he had left it the night he left for Bevelle, save for the fact that the shower was running. He walked forward and opened the shower door slowly, where he saw her curled up in a ball, rocking slowly back and forth. She was still fully clothed, and soaked through to the skin. It took her several seconds for her to react to Wakka staring there, at which time she simply looked up at him, then to the door behind him, hanging limply from its lower hinge.

"You broke your door," she said softly and simply. Her voice sounded small, like a timid child.

He kneeled down so that he was almost eye level with her. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I busted the door. But you gave me a big scare, ya?" She said nothing, instead resting her chin on her knees, rocking back and forth slowly again. "What are you doing in here? You're going to catch cold in those clothes." She just shrugged. Wakka sighed. "Come on Rikku, talk to me," he coaxed gently. "Tell me what's going on. I wanna help you, ya?"

Suddenly, Auron appeared in the doorway behind them, closely followed by Yuna. "Wakka?" he asked. "What the Hell's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just give me a minute," Wakka said, holding out his hand as another way of telling him to back off.

"A quick minute," Auron said. "I'd like to speak with her." He turned and left, but Yuna remained until Tidus called her name, at which point she yelled, "Coming!" before hurrying away as well.

Wakka turned back to Rikku, who suddenly looked scared. "I don't want to talk to him," she said. "I don't want to talk to anybody right now. Just leave me alone!"

"Rikku, listen to me," Wakka said. "Nobody's going to make you say anything you don't want to, okay?"

"**He** will," Rikku argued, referring to Auron. "I have to think. I have to think about how I'm going to get her. I have to plan. I have to protect my cousin and family. He'll stop me. I don't want him knowing anything." She said all of this so fast that Wakka had a hard time understanding her.

"Not if I don't let him," he said. "He may look like an asshole, but he's a good guy. He'd only be asking so he could help find out more about what's going on, ya? But if you don't want to talk right now, he won't force you." He smiled, reaching out to move her bangs out of her face. She flinched slightly at his touch. "Shh, it's all right. There," he added, after he had moved her hair. "That's better, ya?" She smiled a half-smile, nodding a bit. "I thought so. Now why don't you get out of there and we'll get you into some dry clothes? You can borrow some of mine. They'll be kinda big on you but I think I can find–"

"He raped me," she said quietly, which effectively caused Wakka to choke on the rest of his sentence.

It took a moment or two before he was finally able to speak again. "Wha . . . what did you say?"

"That bartender. He raped me in the alley. Then Paine came . . ." she shuddered and turned her face away from him.

Wakka couldn't believe what he was hearing. Her words made him dizzy, and he had to lean against the wall for support. Given Rikku's body language and change of behavior; it made a lot of sense. She had been staring blankly at him as she spoke, almost robotically. Then, as if a dam behind her eyes had suddenly burst, she suddenly became racked with gut-wrenching sobs, and tears began spilling down her face. Wakka was at a loss as to what to do, but he knew he couldn't bear to watch this for too much longer.

"She c-came . . ." it was almost impossible to tell what she was saying through her sobbing, "and then . . . a-a-and t-then . . . she k-k-killed him, a-and . . . m-made me g-go with h-her s-so I w-wouldn't s-s-say anything."

Wakka reacted in the only thing he could think of at the time: also fully clothed, he got in the shower and brought her close to him in a hug. Now, anything she tried to say became incomprehensible, so she just gave up. By this time, Auron had again appeared in the doorway, looking impatient. He caught Wakka's eye, who with one look convinced Auron that it was best not to stay. Again, Auron left. Rikku did not notice any of this.

"Does . . . does Yuna know this?" Wakka asked her gently.

"N-no," Rikku hiccupped, shaking her head. "Y-you're the only o-one I've told. I d-don't even know why I t-told you. I don't even k-know you."

"Shhhh," Wakka whispered in her ear. "You're okay now. You're with us, ya? I'm gonna help you through this. I promise. Okay? Look at me." He drew her chin up so that he could stare into her swollen eyes. "Nothing's going to happen to you. You believe me, ya?" She didn't move, except to hiccup. "You believe me." This time, he said it as more of a statement than a demand. Then, she nodded. He smiled. "That's my girl." She managed a half-chuckle, half choke at this before holding him tighter, her crying ebbing away.

"C-can you just stay here . . . for a while?" she said. "I don't wanna go out there yet."

"Sure thing," Wakka said. "Water on or off?"

"On. But . . . could you turn it up? I'm getting cold."

Wakka smiled, holding her close. "Sure."

He bumped the shower nozzle, and pulled Rikku into his lap. He began to rock her slowly back and forth like a small child, and she wrapped her arms around him and buried her head into the crook of his neck.

"It does feel good," he whispered. He felt her face twitch as she smiled a little.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

Yuna and Tidus had just finished recounting what Rikku had told them about her time with Paine. "Why would Paine essentially give away everything we need to know to find her?" Auron asked, putting down the tape that Paine had left Rikku back in the hotel room. "It seems foolish."

"I don't know either," Yuna sighed. "Rikku may not even know. She certainly isn't going to say anything about it right now."

"Which is a problem," Auron said, checking his watch.

"Rikku said that she got this around five a.m. or so," Yuna said.

"That means there's about 16 hours left," Auron replied. "You don't have much time. She should have told somebody immediately."

"Hey, lighten up on 'em, old man," Tidus cut in, seeming to want to butt in just for the sake of saying something (telling Auron off was another plus). "They've had it rough."

"And they will be dead if we don't move quickly," Auron countered harshly. "We can't afford to waste time." He began to rise, but stopped. "What was it you needed to talk to Wakka about?" Tidus hesitated a moment. "We don't have a lot of time. If you want to speak your mind, do it now." He looked at Tidus knowingly.

"Uh . . ." Tidus started before trailing off. For some reason, it didn't really seem all that big a deal at the moment. "Forget it," he said. "It can wait." For the first time in awhile, he had found a situation that superseded his hatred for all things SIA-related.

Auron stared at Tidus for a moment, studying him. "Your choice," he said. "Go get Wakka. We need to go."

"We're right here." Wakka was standing behind them with his arm around Rikku, who was now wearing a large white T-shirt and neon green athletic shorts that went down almost to her ankles.

"Welcome back," Auron said. Yuna shot Rikku a questioning look, but she avoided it. "Rikku, you and Yuna should all head to the Governor's Mansion to inform Braska and Cid of this. They should be back by now." He turned to Wakka. "You too. Go with Rikku."

"So what the fuck am I supposed to do?" Tidus cut in, looking annoyed.

"Stay here," Auron replied. "Yuna and I will keep in touch and let you know what's going on. The less people we have moving around, the better. Besides, it's safer than my place. Kinoc will have it under surveillance."

Tidus stood still, pondering the suggestion, before he nodded. "Good call, old man."

"Indeed." Auron turned to Rikku. "I'm going to take care of Paine."

Rikku suddenly snapped to attention. "How?"

"Exactly as you were," Auron replied, nodding knowingly and producing Rikku's gun from inside his trench coat. Rikku's eyes widened as Wakka looked at her, looking astonished. Auron crossed to her and handed the gun back. "Let me handle it."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Governor's Mansion.  
16:07.  
Monday, December 9. _

Yuna had decided to excuse herself when Cid and Braska were informed of the situation. Rather, she and Maechen spent most of their time searching the mansion for Rikku, who had effectively managed to disappear soon after they arrived. Even Wakka didn't know where she was. As much as he would have liked to search for her himself, he was the only one there to tell the mayor and his deputy what he and Auron had found out. That left Yuna with little to do, other than find her cousin. She wanted a chance to talk to her alone anyway, as their short exchange in the club didn't really count.

Maechen suddenly appeared from down the hall. "Alas, Lady Yuna, I could not find her," he said, shaking his hand as she came up to him. "I am sorry."

"Well, I haven't actually tried her bedroom yet," Yuna said. "Come with me."

They approached the bedroom. Knocking softly on one of Rikku's double doors, and getting no response, she tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, and she and Maechen opened the doors quietly, as if expecting her to be sleeping. Maechen called Rikku's name but got no response, and Yuna entered the room and began to search for her cousin. She was not there. Disappointed, she turned around to leave, but something on Rikku's bed caught her eye. She moved closer to see what it was, and discovered that it was a pile of clothes. The same clothes that Rikku had been wearing when they arrived. So, Rikku had obviously been there. But where was she now?

Then she saw the note.

_ I'm not here. You can stop looking now. I'm really sorry Yunie. Don't blame yourself. What happens isn't always your fault. I hope you know that. You're the best cousin I could ever have. _

_ Wakka, you really are a nice guy. I know you didn't want me to do this. I know you were just trying to protect me. Thanks for being there for me. Don't blame yourself either. _

_ I love you pops. _

_ Hearts,_

_ ~ Rikku ~_

"Where is she?" she shouted at the note. "_Where is she!"_

Maechen rushed into the room. "What is it, miss? What's happened?"

She was on the floor now, screaming into the plush carpet, the note crushed in her fist. "_Where did she go? Where is she!_"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Mason Bridge.  
05:15.  
Tuesday, December 10. _

Suppressing a yawn, Auron peered intently out from underneath the chalice of the Mason Bridge, looking for anything that might resemble a human shadow. His gun was in his hand, the safety on. The lights of the surrounding buildings and cars were bright enough that he didn't need night-vision goggles to see. In addition, those not under the bridge wouldn't be able to see anything in its shadow, and since that was where Auron was hiding, he would be very difficult to spot.

He had been here, waiting silently, for twelve hours going on thirteen. Before he arrived, he had gone to the hospital to have his leg properly patched up, though he demanded a speedy checkup and that he be allowed to leave afterward. The doctor had given him some painkillers and a gauze bandage and reluctantly sent him on his way, which was here. In the time since he arrived, he had seen one man walking in his direction before placing a duffel bag in a bush and quickly walking away. After waiting for ten minutes, Auron had scanned the area to make sure that nobody else was around, and then quickly moved from his spot to the duffel bag, opening it to examine its contents. All he found was a key card, badge and a security guard uniform. It was for a woman. Replacing the duffel bag as he found it, he retreated back to his position, and it was there he remained up until now.

The air was biting cold, and a small wind had picked up, causing the powder snow to skim and dance over the ground. The clouds that had dumped said snow on the city were moving away now, revealing a band of clear sky in between those clouds and the new storm that was coming in. Auron was, by now, more than sick of all this snow. It had become an inconvenience to go anywhere even within the city, let alone outside of it. In fact, he had heard on the news earlier that the main interstate out of Zanarkand, the one that ran through Mt. Gagazet, had been completely shut down because the ZRD had run out of places to put the plowed snow. Zanarkand's airport was now the only way out of the city, other than by ship. Despite the hazards, cars and trucks roared across the bridge over Auron's head, heading in the general direction of the towering skyscraper that was the headquarters for the SIA.

Auron was a man who could multitask like few others. He was able to keep an adequate amount of focus on the task at hand while mulling several other things over in the back of his mind. This whole situation struck him as strangely surreal, like something out of a movie thriller. A diabolical man in an unchecked position of power, hell-bent on total domination, and out to systematically murder all those who stood in his way. It was a disturbing genius. But he knew that the SIA had become altogether different since Kinoc had taken it over ten years ago. It had become infamous and efficient, so secret in its methods of operation that it had become feared by the powerful and trusted by the naive.

And at what cost?

'One too high,' he thought. 'Yes indeed.'

He thought of Tidus, and smiled slightly when he thought of the way he behaved around Yuna. It seemed like a different side of the kid was showing, one that he'd never seen before. He was a bit more conscious of his actions around her, but only a little. Even still, this was an improvement. And he seemed happy too. They both did, for that matter. He just hoped that, while he himself was ill-suited for relationships, theirs would do them well. And what was with Wakka? Since when did he have the opportunity to even get a chance to meet Yuna's cousin, besides when the stadium blew up? . . . Was that really it? The irony made him chuckle, but other than that, the issue concerned him little.

He shook off his musings. Such things were **too** distracting.

The nearby shadow on the ground shifted. Auron saw it just in time.

Not pausing to consider what was causing the shadow, he dove into the snow behind one of the bridge's support beams just as a bullet whizzed above his head. How in the Hell had she seen him? Well, that didn't matter. Very slowly, Auron shifted his position so that he could peer around the beam. He saw the silver hair that he knew belonged to Paine, but what attracted his attention more was the glinting silver pistol whose end exploded again as she fired another shot at him. This one even closer, he felt the air as it zoomed by his ear.

Then, he remembered the last time he had spoken to her.

He had been on a plane, back from Bevelle, the day after the attacks. She was on board a CIA plane . . .

**_16 days ago . . . _**

_ "How interesting," the girl smiled as he raised his hands in surrender. "I guess it's a small world after all."_

_ "Indeed," he said. "You should be careful before waving that gun around. This **is** a plane."_

_ Paine's eyes narrowed. "I think we're both professionals here," she said. "I wasn't aware there was anybody else on board . . ." she lowered her gun. "And my safety is of great concern to me." _

_ He had lowered his hands as well. "I see," was all he said. "Well then, I'll disappear. You'll never see me again."_

_ Paine had smiled before turning around and sitting down in her seat. Auron had begun moving toward his own seat before he heard her say something else._

_ "Oh, I think I will, Sir Auron."_

**_Present _**

He fired three shots in her direction before quickly moving out of Paine's sight again, just as she essentially sprayed the beam with bullets. They were locked in a stalemate, and he had just run out of ammo. Quickly, he dispensed of his empty magazine and fished an empty one from his pocket before sliding it into the Beretta and rearming the pistol. Paine fired again, the snow next to his right foot exploding in a powdery bomb.

"One of us is going to die, Auron," came Paine's cold voice as she shot at him again. "You understand that?"

"Indeed," Auron agreed.

"It's a shame we had to meet again at all," Paine called. There was a momentary lull in the exchange of gunfire. "You know we could have avoided this, don't you? Why are you here? What are you fighting for?"

"A better world," he said.

"Is that hard to accomplish alone?"

"I'm not alone."

"Oh, but you are."

As Paine said this, she wheeled around to fire at Auron, hoping to catch him off-guard, but he was ready. The bullets missed him as he wheeled around to duck behind the strut.

"You're fighting a losing battle, Auron," Paine continued. It was not a taunt. She said as though it were merely something she had read in the morning paper.

The man gritted his teeth. "I'm not planning on dying anytime soon," he stated.

"I'm not talking about mortality," Paine retorted. "I'm talking about living life, and the fact that you've forgotten how."

"Interesting that you would know this about me," Auron snapped dryly.

"I can tell in the way you fight," she reasoned. "You're not putting your all into it."

"What are your suggestions, then?"

Paine let out a disapproving hiss. "Case in point. You've already given up. Come on, fight me like you actually want to live." She was almost taunting him now, though she was still using that same flat, expressionless voice of hers. "Haven't you ever thought about saving your own skin?"

"It's crossed my mind in the last few minutes," Auron replied bluntly.

"Bullshit," was Paine's retort. "You're fighting for dead people. Yes, I know about Jecht," she said. There was amusement in her voice. "You're not fighting to protect that girl Rikku. You're not even fighting for your own kid or his rich and sexy girlfriend. You're still fighting for the skeletons in your closet. Because you're afraid they'll tumble out and suffocate anyone who doesn't know that they're there." Once again, she fired at Auron, but he remained behind the beam. "It's easier to fight for the dead, isn't it? They can't get pissed off at you if you fuck up again."

"No," Auron hissed. "In coming here, I made a choice between doing nothing about the world I live in, or doing something. I chose the latter, which is why I'm here now."

For a fleeting second, a thought crossed Auron's mind. It was so strange how the two of them could be trying to kill each other, and at the same time, argue like a bickering couple. However, the thought soon vanished, especially when his mind likened their discussion to a relationship. His subconscious kicked that one right out of his head.

"It's not about me, and you know it," Paine countered. "I'm mortal. History is forever, and killing me won't change yours. Jecht died your best friend, and that's how you remember him. He fucked up, and died for it. And so here you are, like nothing's changed. Your reason of fighting for 'a better world' becomes nothing more than an excuse to bail out when things get too hard. Leave the SIA, then leave the bar, wrongfully thinking both choices will bring you happiness . . ." She paused, then asked, "are you so used to hiding from life?"

Paine had obviously gotten some information on his personal life, which further inflamed his anger. "What you are **so** wrong about," he growled, trying a surprise attack himself and, like Paine, failing, "is how I determine my actions. I'm here because I know Kinoc hired you. I know he hired you to kill Braska's entire family so he could take over as head of the DASC. Don't think I don't know that's what he's after. He's never satisfied with what he has. But someone has to make him see reality. And–"

"Who is that going to be? You?" Paine laughed. "Don't kid yourself. You may think reality is important to you, but your actions couldn't be more opposite. You've been blind to reality for years. Like now, for instance. You know you're going to lose. Because in your mind, you've already lost everything else - your friend, your trust in that kid, and his girlfriend too . . . well, soon on that last one.

"And Rikku's already lost. Have you seen her? She went and got herself in trouble with some pig fuck bartender and I had to save her. Of course, I couldn't allow her to just leave after she saw me blow that motherfucker's head off, so she had to come along and see even more carnage. And now she's lost too." She ducked as Auron fired at her again. "You have nothing left to live for. Everyone who would die for you already has. And you know it. Your trust, your friends, your family . . . it's all gone. That's why you've lost your direction in life, and why you're going to lose this gunfight!"

Auron was blocking out her words as he reloaded another clip into his gun and poked around the corner to fire again. However, his timing slipped this one time. Call it adrenaline, impatience, or whatever, but a groan escaped his lips as Paine's next bullet finally found his flesh. The projectile struck him in the hand and exited out the other side, and Auron's gun flew out of his grasp as blood misted him in the face. Weaponless, his hand now in excruciating pain, Auron whirled back around the corner. However, this was a pure survival reflex. His mind, on the other hand, had finally accepted the cold, hard reality. She was right. He had lost.

He had lost everything.

He could hear slow footsteps crunching through the snow, becoming slightly louder with each step. "For better or for worse . . . intentions don't really mean anything when there's a gun pointed at your head," Paine said, stopping in front of Auron with the duffel bag and kneeling at his side, pointing her gun so that the barrel was inches from his head.

He offered no resistance. He heard the shot.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
SIA HQ.  
05:36.  
Tuesday, December 10._

Through the silence, they could hear other phones ringing in offices up and down the hall outside the conference room. When there were temporary moments of pure quiet, the large atomic clock hanging above the head chair ticked, counting off seconds that were forever lost. Outside, Zanarkand sprawled in every direction. The flecks of gold light and the lines representing major arteries of traffic expanded all the way out to the farthest stretches of horizon. Helicopters flew in the air like angry bees.

The conference room on the 71st floor was bathed in the eerie red glow thrown off by the lights embedded in the walls. Everything was cast in shadows, and it was difficult to see. The plants that rested in every corner of the room threw very long, spidery shadows along the floor and halls. A sole phone with an extension console the size of a TV tray rested in the center of the table, green and red lights flashing on the console at random intervals. The table itself spanned almost a hundred feet from end to end, but saw nobody sitting at it right now save for the district attorney and the police chief of Zanarkand, even though the room could seat more than fifty in its top-quality leather rolling chairs.

The two people in the room, however, had other concerns.

"So, what's so impor'ant tha' you'd call me 'ere at o'dark thirty?" O'aka looked at Lulu, a steaming mug of coffee in front of both. There were no formalities. He got straight to the point.

"That fact that our intelligence director is responsible for the Stadium Attack," Lulu replied, not in the mood to B.S. either due both to the early hour and whom she was speaking to.

If O'aka had looked tired before, he certainly appeared awake now. "Wha'?" he said.

"Listen to this," Lulu continued, handing him the tape and cassette recorder.

She sipped her coffee and observed as O'aka began listening both to Seymour's confession and to Kinoc's audio log of plots and successes. They sat in silence for a good five minutes, during which Lulu began to grow very worried. O'aka, whose face she had expected would adopt an expression of shock and outrage, looked no different. In fact, all the police chief was doing was nodding. His eyes didn't raise, his mouth didn't fall open, he didn't shake his head. In fact, she could have sworn that he smiled at one point.

"Wow, fascina'ing," he said casually after the tape had concluded. "Wha' do you suggest we do abou' it?"

"I **suggest** you arrest his ass," Lulu snapped, irritated by his calm demeanor. "And move him to the front of the line for trial."

"Lemme guess . . . you'd want to be the one to nip him good, righ'?" he said, smiling wryly at her.

"If, by that, you mean I'd like to be the one to prosecute him," she said, nodding her head slowly, "I'd be honored."

O'aka smiled again and shook his head, rising from the table as if to leave. He hadn't touched his coffee. Lulu's incredulous gaze followed his movement, then turned to horror as the chief drew his sidearm and leveled it with her head.

"I have a be'er idea," he said brightly, jerking his head at the tape. "Why don' we talk abou' your role in **this **plan?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Mason Bridge.  
05:48.  
Tuesday, December 10. _

A body fell forward, smothering the other. Warm, sticky liquid flowed between them, so that one was bathed in some of the other's life blood. And then, after a moment, the first body slid off the second and came to rest on the snow, motionless. Though the other could not see it from this angle, the snow had begun to melt and turn red. The other body began to move, out from underneath the bridge, slowly, with a groan.

There was somebody else here.

"Oh no oh no oh no," came a shaky, high-pitched squeak. "Did I kill her? I killed her!"

Auron moved out from underneath the bridge after taking Paine's gun. He tucked it into his belt loop and ran over to the source of the voice, squeezing more blood out of his wounded hand as he went. The voice belonged to a familiar young blond-haired girl, who had her own pistol in a shaking hand.

It was Rikku.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Auron scolded, his way of thanking her for saving his life. He cradled the wrist that was attached to the injured hand. "You shouldn't have done that . . ." He pulled his trench coat off himself and wrapped it around the shaking girl. She grabbed him and pulled him close to her, blubbering almost incoherently. She was shaking her head against his trench coat.

"I killed her . . . I killed her . . . I killed her . . . no . . . no, I couldn't . . . what was I thinking . . . I killed . . . I killed her." She suddenly dropped the gun as if it had turned scalding hot to the touch. "No! Nooo!" She wailed.

"Rikku . . . it's all right," Auron said. "It was necessary. Do you understand?"

"N-necessary?" she hiccupped. "No . . . not necessary . . . I don't even know . . . was I trying to kill her?"

"Sometimes, it's necessary to harm another," Auron continued as though she hadn't spoken. ". . . to save yourself. When they would harm you, it is necessary."

"I . . ." Rikku trailed off. "I dunno . . . was I trying to kill her?"

"Let's get you . . ." Auron trailed off, cursing. "Who the Hell would leave me 16 voicemails?" He had just turned on his cell phone, having had it off the entire time he had staked out the bridge. "They're all from Tidus," he muttered. "What could be so important that he . . ." he fell silent as he listened to the first message, then looked at Rikku with alarm. "Rikku, did you leave a–"

Rikku gasped at his side. "Where . . . where did she go?"

He and Rikku had been facing away from the bridge for no more than a minute. But now, as he looked around to where he was hiding under the bridge, he saw only a darker spot of snow amidst an impression of a young woman. There were footprints in the snow leading in the opposite direction. She was gone.

"She's not dead, Rikku," Auron whispered. "Not good. We have to go."

"No . . ." Rikku sighed. "It can't be! I . . . I **was** trying to kill her! I was aiming for her head! Why? Why . . ."

"Come on."

He had been given a second chance.

Thanks to this girl, this girl whom he had not spoken to before yesterday afternoon, he could try again. No more skeletons, no more Jecht. He thought he had put his death behind him when he finally submitted Jecht's Notice of Departure to the SIA five days ago. But Paine was right; he hadn't let go. And now, he had. He would protect Tidus, so that the same fate that befell his father would not greet him. He would fight for Tidus and what he loved, his girl and her cousin, who currently clung to him as if her life depended on it.

Strangely enough, it did.

Rikku was like a doll that could be morphed to do anything. Auron began to run, and she ran alongside him, half crying, half-coughing.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, 4178 Monument Way.  
06:01.  
Tuesday, December 10. _

Yuna and Tidus had been alone in the apartment for quite some time. Even so, the time the two spent together wasn't very pleasant. That note Rikku had left shook Yuna to the core, and she only hoped that Tidus knew that was the real reason she was barely talking. She needed to get away from her own home as fast as she could because, at this point, she couldn't stand to be in the same place with all the uncertainty. Since Auron's apartment was deemed unsafe, they came back to Wakka's (which, in retrospect, wasn't too much better an alternative).

Tidus had nodded off at her side and was snoring softly, a soft ribbon of drool that was close to touching his shoulder dancing in the air he exhaled. She subconsciously pulled him closer, just enough so that she felt more comfortable and he stayed asleep. Just his presence alone was doing wonders for her; she really wouldn't know what to do with her thoughts if she didn't have him to talk to. Maechen was a wonderful person, this was true, but he could only do so much. She really didn't want to burden him with any more of her problems; she felt she had done quite enough of that over the past months, and the last two weeks in particular.

Yuna started when Tidus's phone vibrated against the nightstand, and Tidus awoke with a particularly loud snort. Groaning and swearing under his breath, he reached over and grabbed the phone. The screen on the front was flashing.

"Auron," he muttered sleepily to Yuna, raising his eyebrows. "'Bout fuckin' time." Yuna held her breath as he flipped it open, putting it on speaker phone. "You there, old man?"

"Rikku is fine," came his sharp voice. It sounded out of breath. "She's right here. I'm with her."

"Hey," Rikku's soft voice came over the phone.

"Rikku!" Yuna shrieked, her voice cracking as she nearly broke down again. "That note . . . I didn't know what to think! We were starting to think you had–"

"I was just, well, in a hurry," Rikku said. "I didn't really think about how I was saying what I said. I just wanted to say sorry for everything."

"What are you–" Yuna started, but Auron cut her off.

"No time for that, Yuna," he said. "I couldn't stop Paine. She's probably on her way to the SIA now. Just giving you a heads-up. I'm going to make one last try. In the meantime, get Wakka and rendezvous with Rikku in the SIA lobby."

"Uh, sure," Tidus said. "We'll, uh, be right down." He looked to Yuna to see if she agreed with this, and she nodded her head vigorously.

"Hang in there, Riks!" Yuna called encouragingly.

"Yeah . . ." Was the less-than-convincing reply.

The line went dead.

Wordlessly, the two quickly left the room, Yuna putting in a quick call to Maechen to tell him where she was going. At this point, she at least wanted somebody to know where she was; Rikku's sudden disappearance had given her quite a shock. Even if Maechen objected to them going (which he did), at least he would know what was going on. The fleeting moment of guilt for disappearing on her father when she was with Tidus resurfaced, but she pushed it from her mind again.

Wakka was over at the apartment too; he had finally succumbed to exhaustion and fallen asleep on the downstairs couch. This was, of course, after hours of trying, and failing miserably, to quell his own worries over Rikku's whereabouts. Now, at the news of Rikku being found, he was wide awake.

"Wha? How?" He jumped from the couch and ran for his coat, shrugging it on quickly.

"Ask her for yourself, when you see her," Yuna suggested. "Auron wouldn't tell me anything."

"Ready?" Tidus asked them, holding the door.

Yuna smiled a little and nodded. "Mmhm," she said. "Let's go."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SIA Headquarters.  
06:09.  
Tuesday, December 10. _

The SIA director wasn't regarding Braska in the same way as before. He seemed different somehow. Colder, more distant, and more preoccupied. He was constantly darting his eyes around, looking both out the windows and at the doors leading elsewhere from the room. Then again, given the new information that Braska knew concerning Kinoc, this could have just been the mayor's newfound paranoia blowing everything out of context.

He doubted it.

It had turned out that in addition to the two rogue SIA agents informing him of the plot against his life, Cid had also known something. He had retrieved a tape, with both Seymour's and Kinoc's voice on it. Needless to say, what he heard from both men was enough to give him nightmares for months. Kinoc had been a friend, an advisor, and a confidant. As it turned out, Kinoc blamed all of the world's problems on him and the DASC, and thought the only way to have them fixed was to kill him so that he himself could 'fix' these problems. The slight reassurance he felt by the plan to get O'aka up to their meeting and have him arrest Kinoc was nowhere near enough to quell his fear and fury. The Director didn't seem like the type to take an arrest warrant lightly.

Braska cleared his throat nervously for what must have been the hundredth time in the five minutes since he and Cid had sat down across the table from Kinoc. The mayor glanced over at Cid, who appeared very stoic and focused. An untouched glass of whiskey rested in front of both of them (normally, Cid's would have been gone by now). Belgemine, the Deputy Director, sat across from Cid, and Kinoc across from Braska. Belgemine cast a look at Cid, but then quickly looked away. Her facial expression was unreadable, so Cid looked out the window at the sea of light and city 120 stories below, trying to distract himself.

"Right," Braska said, finally deciding that getting things rolling was better than waiting for something bad to happen. "Seymour's gone. Where do we go from here?"

"We're investigating a possibility," Kinoc said. "Vague intelligence indicates that Seymour, before going into hiding, ordered his faithful to kill him if ever he was caught. It's suspected that this is what happened . . . that one of his followers killed him."

Did Belgemine even know the truth about her boss? Cid couldn't imagine. He didn't think she'd be in on his whole scheme. Not moving his head, he first looked at Belgemine and then Braska, who was looking around the room, licking his lips nervously. The Mayor was doing a horrible job of pretending that nothing was wrong. On the other hand, Cid couldn't blame him. He himself was furious for being betrayed in this way by this man, but Braska wasn't that kind of person. Braska was a kind person, a man who didn't have anything against anybody except those who tried to harm his family. And now . . . Kinoc had revealed himself to be one of those people. Cid couldn't even imagine what a man like Braska, who trusted people easily, had to be going through at this moment. He wanted to pat the Mayor on the back to show his support, but that risked raising suspicion (at least, Cid thought it might).

"This is the only lead we've gotten so far," Belgemine added. "We've got the Special Forces Unit of the CCDP in on this one too. They're given more freedom in Bevelle than the local police, especially considering the status of things down there."

"Was Seymour's insurance a way for him to not have to go on record about his crimes?" Cid asked.

'Your crimes.'

"We believe so, but who knows?" Kinoc answered, shrugging. "The minds of madmen can only be understood by those of similar mind."

'Like you.'

Kinoc looked around behind him. A woman with silver hair, in a security guard's uniform, had just entered the room. She gently shut the door behind her and stood next to it, greeting nobody nor explaining her business. Braska noticed this too, or rather noted how unusual it was that Kinoc did not seem to mind.

"So what do I go to the press with?" Braska asked. "The people are going to want closure."

"It's not about closure anymore," Kinoc said, shaking his head. "It's about security and prevention. Seymour robbed us of any closure we could have by dying, and nothing will change that. All that matters now is making sure this doesn't happen again."

"Fine then," Braska said. "So . . . what do you recommend?"

"Well, I have a theory based off some previous patterns," Kinoc said slowly. "Leave us, Belgemine," he ordered. "I'm sure you're busy. I'll debrief you later."

She stood up without question. "Sir," she said to Kinoc. "Gentlemen," she acknowledged Cid and Braska before quickly leaving the room. As she did so, the pager that was at her belt vibrated, and she checked the number that had appeared as she exited.

The security guard stayed behind.

"All right," Kinoc said, nodding. "The plan. It's pretty straightforward. We need to get the right people in the right places to keep an eye on local leaders and their governments. That might mean expanding some SIA programs. Also, we will need to quiet the people who would possibly hinder this process."

"Kinoc . . ." Braska said hesitantly. All the while, he was wondering where O'aka was. Wasn't he supposed to be up here by now? "I'm not sure I agree with this process myself . . . that would make me a hindrance."

The short, bald man sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said.

What happened next could only be interpreted by the human mind as almost incomprehensible. Kinoc pulled an Uzi from underneath the desk, quicker than any of them could blink. He grinned. "And that's why I've decided to get rid of you two first."

For the first time in his political career, and before the gun blasted to life, the last thought that Braska ever had was that he knew he was seeing the true face of insanity.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

Yuna, Rikku, and Wakka were all hugging each other, which made Tidus feel very uncomfortable. Not only did it look awkward, he wasn't used to such non-sexual public displays of affection. He just watched the three hold each other, scratching his head as he always did when he was out of his comfort zone. They had walked through the Full Circle Garden outside the SIA (which was where they met Rikku) and were now in the lobby of the building, getting out of the cold for a minute before turning around and heading back to Tidus's apartment.

"I'm so sorry!" Rikku was saying. "I didn't mean to scare you all that much."

"You're safe," Yuna whispered. "That's all that matters."

"I promise I'll tell you next time," Rikku said, nodding. "All of you. I just didn't think you'd let me go."

"I wouldn't have," Wakka said. "But that doesn't matter, ya? We're all here now."

"Yeah," Rikku agreed. Then, she looked over at Tidus. "Don't feel left out! You're Yunie's man! Get in here!" She opened her arm to welcome him, an action that reflected the old Rikku.

"Uhh . . ." he said before he was promptly cut off and dragged in by Yuna and Wakka.

Suddenly, there was another person present. He was watching them all, surveying them. Quickly, Wakka broke the circle, and the others followed suit, looking confused.

"Excuse me," the man said, approaching them. "There is a routine security drill in progress. Would you mind coming with me for a few moments?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.2 ~~~~~**

"Alrigh', Lulu, stand in front o' the camera," O'aka said. "Say your name. And what you are doin' here."

At 6:16 a.m., something strange began happening in the SIA. On all floors, employees and guests alike were approached by security guards or other employees and asked to follow them because of a security drill. Some of those asked repeated the request, confused. Others simply nodded the affirmative and obeyed. Either way, all eventually followed these guards and employees to wherever they were headed, which was always the closest hallway. All the hallways had cameras. All were asked to face the cameras and give their full names and their reasons for being in the building.

All were then systematically executed with a shot to the forehead.

* * *

And that is it.

Chapter 17's title reflects what will be happening in that chapter, so I will not provide a preview. You're just gonna have to wait on this one. :)

**ALSO!** I need to know from you, my readers, what questions you still have about this story that haven't been answered for you yet. Chapters 17 and 18 are also going to tie up the loose ends that need tying up, and though I'm going to try to catch them all myself, I may miss a few. And that would just suck for story flow, and leave a lot of you frustrated. So **PLEASE, in your review, if there's anything you still don't know, tell me about it.** Thanks so much for those who will do this for me.

Okay, the usual stuff now. Be sure to check my bio for regular updates. I'm pretty vigilant in keeping information posted at reasonable intervals there, so if anything is in question regarding my stuff, check there. You'll likely find the answer. And as always, you can Private Message me for anything else, even if it's just to chat.

Make sure you review! Feedback is essential and greatly appreciated. Besides, it's always nice to see them. Please, please review!

That does it. Take it easy all, and stay tuned in the coming weeks for **Chapter 17: As You Wander the Halls of the SIA.**

SirGecko


	17. As You Wander the Halls of the SIA

Hello, everybody. I finally bear chapter 17. I have several things to tell you about this chapter. As you will find out upon reading it, it's very much a rite of passage, both for the characters and the story and for me as an author. I'll start out with the raw details: it's my longest chapter ever, at 28 1/2 pages. So, hopefully I've made up for the long wait very slightly.

The following characters are in this chapter: Tidus, Yuna, Auron, Rikku, Wakka, Lulu, Paine, Belgemine, Kinoc, Cid, O'aka, and Leblanc. EVERYBODY stars in this chapter. Now, for the somber news:

There are 12 characters listed above. By the end of the chapter, four of them will be dead. And that's all the summary you're gonna get.

I'll talk about it more at the end of the chapter. DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER BEFORE YOU'VE FINISHED READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHO DIES. I'M DISCUSSING EACH CHARACTER'S DEATH.

Anyway. All of my reviews were signed and have been replied to, so that's out of the way. So, time for the disclaimer and warning and shit.

First, the disclaimer. **I do not own Final Fantasy X, the Characters, Spira or anything else associated with the original game Final Fantasy X.** However, the plot is mine. Don't steal it without my permission.

And now, the warning: **_This story continues to be rated M for mature. Those who are skeptical of stories with this rating are fully aware that they read Zanarkand, Full Circle at their own discretion and will not hold the author responsible for any offense taken._**

So, dive right in. Will you enjoy the chapter? All I'll say is that I hope so.

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**Chapter 17: As You Wander the Halls of the SIA  


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_"Now you belong to the SIA . . . time and date are irrelevant . . ."_

_~** FLOOR 71 **~ _

The eerie silence that gripped the halls of the SIA was remarkable. Even the dull hum of the computers and the ringing of surrounding telephones seemed suffocated in the chill atmosphere. All 121 floors were virtually deserted, and even still, all still left inside were held hostage by a new security force, one that had deemed the current establishment unfit for duty. There were at least three guards on each floor; in a building whose maximum capacity was nearly 50,000 people, an occupant status of just under 400 was virtually meaningless.

The people inside the tallest skyscraper in Spira didn't know it yet (or never would, depending on who was alive and who wasn't), but the SIA had become isolated, an island in the sea that was Zanarkand. Helicopters floated in the sky, the air traffic having dwindled slightly since the high-profile Stadium Attack. The people milling about the city in the early morning had no idea that their international pillar of strength, the entity that they viewed as the one beacon of hope in a world wrapped in the darkness of paranoia and disillusion, had suddenly become the very force they all feared.

Belgemine was still in a state of shock. Her conscious mind was only vaguely aware of the unfolding situation. Her mind was otherwise incapable of processing the fact that her own agency was being taken over by the very terrorists that she had sworn to defeat. What's more, her boss was at the head of the entire conspiracy from the get-go, brilliantly employing Seymour as a public scapegoat and a fall guy. At this point, **how** the events unfolded was immaterial. All that mattered was that somewhat delusional but ever-important glimmer of hope that kept her going, the hope that some could be spared and the damage slightly mitigated.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and she whipped it out and flipped it open.

_ LXXI. Save. – A_

She finally made it to the 71st floor. Stopping for a few seconds to catch her breath, she carefully peeked out the door to the stairwell, confirming that the coast was clear. Taking no chances, she quickly emerged into the dark hallway, sidearm in hand. She had a good idea of where to go, as there was only one room of any significance on this floor, and that was the Upper Executive Conference Room. As quietly as she could, she quickly began moving along the dark hallway toward her destination.

"Alrigh' Lulu, stand in front o' the camera."

Belgemine froze at the sound of the Police Chief's voice just as her cellular phone vibrated once again. Jumping and almost giving her position away in doing so, she quickly retrieved her phone and looked at the message.

_ Cam-kills. ~ A_

Her quick codebreaker thinking allowed her to quickly understand the meaning of the message. Hurriedly, she shut her phone and moved forward again, around the hallway bend. She saw O'aka standing behind the much-taller, visibly shaking Zanarkand District Attorney. She quickened her pace so that she was in optimum firing range.

"Drop the gun, right now."

O'aka whirled around, startled, before raising his gun level with Belgemine. Lulu took advantage of the distraction. At the same time the Deputy Director fired, O'aka was knocked off his feet due to her roundhouse kick. Her move caused Belgemine's shot to go slightly off-target, striking him in the pelvis instead of the stomach. The short man screamed, but Lulu's quick thinking muffled the noise, as she gagged him using her scarf.

Belgemine approached with her gun trained on his forehead. "No noise, pig," she spat. "Or it's out the window." She jerked her head down the hallway, where a window overlooking the vast expanse of Zanarkand marked its end.

She grabbed the handcuffs from around O'aka's waist and used them to cuff him to the wall's handrail so that his arms were behind him and the cuffs were looped around the rail. He stared wide-eyed and fearful at the two women, who were glaring at him with the utmost contempt. Belgemine approached one more time, removing the billy club and mace from around his waist and tossing them aside. Lulu already carried his gun.

"Nobody move."

Another figure was standing behind them, a pistol clutched in his good hand. It took Belgemine a few seconds to recognize him, but with the help of the glow of a couple of nearby vending machines, she did. He was a tall, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a large red trench coat. She raised her hands and dropped her gun. Lulu remained frozen, her gun still level with the man's chest.

"Good to see you in one piece," he nodded.

Belgemine nodded back. "So you were right," she said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lulu eyeing Auron with obvious suspicion. "It's all right. He's one of us," she assured. Lulu nodded and dropped her own pistol. "Lulu, this is Auron, one of our best agents."

Auron limped into view. "Introduce me later," he said, and Lulu nodded her agreement. "We have work to do."

"Right," Lulu said. "Where do we go from here?"

Auron leaned against the vending machine. "We need more people," he said. "The three of us aren't enough."

"Should we be talking about a plan in front of the Jester here?" Lulu asked, jerking her head at the cuffed police chief.

Auron glanced at O'aka. "Hmph," was his answer. "There's nothing he could say that Kinoc wouldn't find out on his own anyway," Auron said. "Speed is what we need to worry about."

"So, what about Cid and Braska?" Lulu asked. "Shouldn't we go after them now, while there's still time?"

Auron shook his head. "No," he said. "If they're still alive, they'll be alive for a while longer. Cid and Braska will have to fend for themselves for the time being, at the very least until we find some more people to help us."

Before Lulu could cut in to voice what was obvious disagreement, Belgemine cut in. "I hope you're right," she said. "But we are going back for them eventually. At least, I am. With or without you."

"With," Auron assured. "In the meantime, there's someone else here who can help. Let's go." They started to walk briskly toward the elevators.

"You do know you shouldn't even be going with us, right Lulu?" Belgemine said, eyeing the DA suspiciously.

"Technically, yes," Lulu replied. "But I'm somebody on your side that you wouldn't have otherwise. And given the circumstances, you could use me."

"I suppose," Belgemine conceded. She then turned to the spy. "I had really hoped that you were wrong about all that Kinoc has done, Auron, but . . . since you're not . . ."

She pulled out her cell phone and quickly dialed a number as Auron turned in the opposite direction and swept the hallway with his gun outstretched. It was very difficult to see anything; the entire SIA building was on reserve power, which meant that nearly all light in the building was red, dim and pulsating. It cast everything in even inkier darkness and brought with it a feeling of unease.

Belgemine's call connected. "Yes. Prepare to execute. If you fail the first time, abort." She flipped her phone shut. She turned to Auron. "All right. Let's go."

Lulu sighed impatiently. "I object," she persisted, falling to familiar language in her desperation. "I have a bad feeling about waiting to get Cid and Braska."

Auron shook his head. "They knew the risks of entering that meeting. Cid, at least, knows everything I do . . . enough to be aware of the gravity of the situation. In the meantime, somebody equally valuable demands our attention. Follow me."

"Okay, okay," Lulu said dejectedly before jumping slightly and pulling out her own phone, which had begun to ring. "Not now!" She snapped at the phone, turning it off and putting it back in her pocket.

She replaced the phone and headed for the elevator, but stopped when she noticed that Belgemine and Auron weren't following them. She turned around to face the two, who were standing and looking at each other with expressions mixed with confusion and worry.

"Lulu . . . where did you get your phone?" Belgemine asked.

The District Attorney looked perplexed. "The mall, where everybody else seems to," she said hesitantly. "Why?"

"We have SIA-issued phones. That's why ours work," Belgemine said. "The building's in lockdown right now. Civilian phones shouldn't have a signal."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ GROUND FLOOR ~ _**

Tidus and Yuna watched as Rikku marched forward and took the pistol that was in Wakka's hand before bringing it down sharply on the side of the security guard's head. The guard slumped in Wakka's arms, and he dragged him down the hallway before opening an unlocked door, which turned out to be a janitor's closet, and tossing him in there.

"All right," Wakka said once he had shut and locked the door. "That's that." He held out his hand for the gun, and Rikku gave it back.

_ "Look," Wakka mouthed as they were following the guard. He pointed at the guard's left hand._

_ Rikku, Yuna and Tidus followed his gestures, quickly noticing the same thing that Wakka had: the guard's hand was on his gun._

_ Wakka stepped back with the others. "No ID," he whispered as quietly as he could. "Hold on," he called to the guard. They all stopped. "I'm SIA." He flashed his badge. "Show me that you work here."_

_ The guard hesitated and Wakka lurched forward, knocking the guard's dominant hand away from his body and kneeing him in the groin_. _As the guard went down, Wakka grabbed him in a headlock._

And here they were.

"What's going on?" Yuna asked fearfully.

Wakka shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm gonna go find out." He turned to leave, but stopped as he realized everybody was following him. He turned around. "You three need to get outta here, ya? No arguments."

"What about my father? I need to know if he's okay!" Yuna said.

"Pops too!" Rikku argued.

"I know how to use a gun; Rikku and I both know," Yuna insisted. "We're not helpless. You can't make us leave. What would you do if you were in our place?"

Suddenly all three looked over at Tidus, who flinched slightly at their gaze. "Uh . . . Auron taught me guns," he offered feebly, shrugging. "I didn't know why back then, but he was a prick about it and made me learn. Whatever, right?"

"So what, you wanna help me, all of you?" Wakka asked. "Too bad, ya? I don't want any of you getting hurt."

"But–" Tidus started, but Wakka cut him off by pointing the gun at him. Tidus recoiled.

"You know I wouldn't shoot my best bud, but seriously. Get the hell out," Wakka insisted. "I mean it. All of you. You three need to be safe."

"Wakka . . ." Rikku pleaded.

She trailed off when Wakka's cell phone began to ring. He placed it to his ear, lowering the gun. "Hello?" he said, walking out of earshot.

"I'm not going anywhere," Yuna said stubbornly, shaking her head. "Not until I see Father and Cid. Not until we're **all **safe."

"Well then, let's drag Mr.-No-Fun along so that he can't argue," Rikku agreed.

"Chick, you're crazy," Tidus said, shaking his head. "D'you know what these agent motherfuckers do? There's some crazy shit going on right now."

"No, and I don't care either," Rikku snapped back. "If it were your dad, what would you do?"

"Whoa whoa whoa, take it easy. I'm not saying I don't want in on this," Tidus defended, raising his hands in a surrender gesture. "And you don't want to know what I'd do if it were my dad. Trust me though, this is whack. No bullshit."

"I know," Rikku said flatly. "Sounds like fun to me!" Then, she grinned cheekily and bounced over to Wakka, leaving Tidus and Yuna by themselves.

Yuna reached out and gripped Tidus's hands tightly. "You'll go, won't you?" she pleaded.

Tidus looked at her as if she were stupid. "Oh fuck yeah," he said. "No way in Hell I'm bailing on you if you're going up there." He jerked his chin at the ceiling.

She smiled with relief and hugged him as Wakka and Rikku came rushing back, the former looking flustered and worried.

"Who was that?" Tidus asked as Yuna looked at the two apprehensively.

"It was Auron," Wakka said distantly, looking around. "We gotta get hidden, ya? Come on, all of you!"

"What the fuck man! You just told us to bounce!" Tidus said indignantly.

"Yeah, but I talked some sense into him," Rikku chimed in, nodding. "He understands now." Yuna nodded too.

"Plus, the building's locked down anyway," Wakka replied. "That's what Auron told me. Nobody's going anywhere if they're in here."

Rikku's eyebrows rose. Apparently she hadn't known this. "That's not good," she said in an undertone, shaking her head. Then she shrugged. "Oh well. Come on Yunie, let's go get Pops and Braska."

"And give me that fucking gun, asshole," Tidus snapped at Wakka. "I don't want you pointing that shit at me."

"It isn't loaded, idiot!" Wakka said, reaching in his pocket for the clip and showing it to Tidus. "I was just making a point."

"Shit man, that don't make a lot of sense," Tidus said as Wakka slid the clip into the gun and pocketed it.

"Don't worry about it," the red-haired man said, shaking his head. "We can piss and moan later."

By the time they finished arguing, they realized that the girls had already moved away from them and were looking impatiently back at them from the elevators. Wakka cast a defeated look Tidus's way, the latter man only able to shake his head. Tidus wasn't exactly sure what was happening right now, but the fact that they were all in danger of being killed seemed to be a distant thought. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was determination, maybe it was fear. Maybe it was none of those things.

Maybe none of it mattered.

"We gotta meet Auron on the seventieth floor . . . he said Belgemine's with him. They can get us to the top. Hopefully this elevator goes to the seventieth . . ." Wakka muttered as much to himself as the others, chuckling nervously.

As one of the 12 elevators opened to admit them and the two girls stepped inside, Tidus snapped out of his reverie and began to follow Wakka, who was also making his way into the elevator. As he entered, he looked at each of their faces, from Yuna's worried one, to Rikku's expressionless, stoic one, to Wakka's determined one. Sighing, he leaned against the far wall of the elevator and the doors slid shut. This row of elevators had a floor limit that ended on every tenth floor. One went to the 10th and stopped, the next to the 20th, and so on. This elevator, it looked like, went to the 50th floor. Wakka pushed the button for it.

"No time to get out and get the other one . . ." Wakka continued to murmur. "We'll just catch it on the fiftieth."

They lurched skyward. Seconds later, they emerged onto the fiftieth floor, and they all moved quickly to the next available elevator, which turned out to be one further down the hall that went all the way to the 100th floor. Tidus was staring blankly at the city that he, and the others, were now isolated from. Light snow was falling. The sun would be rising soon; the eastern sky was beginning to glow slightly. Far, far below, the veins of traffic pulsed through the city like blood. Off in the distance, on the freeway, cars were streaming along at a steady pace, unusual for this time of morning, when the morning rush hour(s) would just be winding down. Six hundred feet below, cars were slowly inching their way by. It was amazing how many of those roads led to the SIA, as if it were the literal heart of the city.

How blissfully ignorant they were . . . he wished he could join them.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 121 ~ _**

"Fitting . . ."

Cid looked, horror-struck, at the limp body of Mayor Braska on Kinoc's office floor. The fingers on the body twitched slightly, but there was no mistaking that the leader of their great city, and indeed the leader of the free world, was dead. His eyes were closed, and his face made it look as though he was merely sleeping. A stain spread slowly from around his neck and chest, both of which had been mutilated by the spray of bullets.

Cid tore his eyes away from the sight; he didn't want to remember what it looked like. He wanted to remember his friend and mentor the way he always had: as a pioneer and a crusader, a man who dared to change things for the better in Spira. He wanted to remember Braska as the friend who had shown him and his daughter a path, a better life, and a way in which they could improve the lives of their own people. He was like a second conscience and a great confidant, somebody he could turn to when alcohol wasn't enough or was absent ("Now, I will be a sober man").

Horror and disbelief now giving way to rage, his initial reaction told him to rise from his chair, leap on Kinoc and turn him into a minced pile of flesh. He twitched, rising a few inches before freezing and slowly sitting back down. He knew that he would probably be killed trying to disarm Kinoc; Braska wouldn't want that. Granted, there was a big chance that he was going to die anyway, but in the meantime . . . well, he would keep himself in check.

Kinoc, unlike typical and cliché villains that Cid had read about in thrillers, did not seem to take any pleasure in gunning down the most popular and powerful man alive. This was odd; it would seem a great feat for a man like him to destroy such a beacon for hope and change. However, Kinoc looked the farthest thing from pleased. On the contrary, he seemed rather somber and disappointed. He sighed and put the submachine gun down, but still kept the pistol trained on Cid. Finally, the two made eye contact; Kinoc expression read something along the lines of "what else was I to do?"

Kinoc looked up and shook his head. "Braska was a dear friend of mine," he said. "But he'd never allow me to have his job any other way. And you know that the Chairman of the DASC needs to be somebody like me. Somebody who knows how to get things done instead of whoring himself to the cameras . . . somebody with a goddamn spine . . ." He trailed off. "It was necessary."

Cid waited a few minutes before answering. "So that's what this is all about?" he whispered. "You wanted the DASC? Having unlimited, behind-the-scenes power wasn't enough for you, Kinoc? You wanted complete and total world domination too?"

"Good God no," Kinoc said, shaking his head. "That would just come with the territory. Didn't that District Attorney bitch's tape tell you anything? . . . No? Hm. Maybe she **wasn't** worth the trouble of killing; it took a lot of gil to bribe that fool O'aka into doing it."

Cid lurched. Yevon! Was there anybody left anywhere in Spira that he could trust? With both Lulu and Braska dead, not to mention at the hands of somebody he thought he **could** trust, he was alone. Even O'aka was bought off. And what about all of the cops in the ZPD? Who knew about this? How many knew? How many were truly loyal? And how many were in bed with the SIA? Could those two agents who had brought him the tape in the first place ("Wakka and Auron, I think") be trusted? No. Not anymore, he told himself.

"But I digress," Kinoc continued, waving his last comment aside with his hand. "Anyway, I'm sure you listened to the tape. Think what you want. You have to give me credit for the genius of the plan." He paused, chuckling, before continuing on. "I mean, in a way, I did you a favor. Actually, I did your dirty work for you! By turning Seymour into a martyr, I got him into the open so that he could be eliminated. You and Braska both knew that he was a sore on your ass that you'd have to deal with eventually. Don't deny."

"You killed seven hundred people that day," Cid hissed, referring to the Stadium Attack. "And you almost killed Yuna, and my daughter too."

Kinoc pulled the hammer back on the pistol, a Raging Bull ('That'll blow my goddamn head off"), and leaned in close to Cid so that the Deputy Mayor could smell his coffee breath. "I killed the same seven hundred people that would have died when you impotent fools decided to wait for Seymour to strike first," Kinoc spat back. "My God, anyone could have told you he was nuttier than a fucking schizophrenic. **I** watch SINN too. With or without me, he was going to do something equal to or worse than anything I could ever come up with. And you knew it. So please, spare me the lecture and the fucking soapbox you preach on."

Cid's retort lodged in his throat. What **had** he and Braska decided upon with regard to Seymour's threats against Zanarkand, Home, and nearly every other major city? Yevon, it had seemed so long ago, but Hell, the former Mayor of Bevelle had been making those threats for three years, and . . . they hadn't really done anything about it. Neither he nor Braska had even brought sanctions to the DASC as a talking point, though they had discussed it themselves ("and a lot of good that does").

'No . . . no.'

Kinoc lowered the gun, letting out a huge, nasal sigh, still pointing the gun at Cid's head while he answered a phone call.

"Yes . . . oh really? How amusing!" He laughed. "Well then, yes, it's time." He hung up the phone and turned to the guard who had been standing there, motionless, the entire time. "Paine, you're up," he said. "I have a couple of friends that you haven't yet thanked properly for their role in all this. I believe you've already had an encounter with one of them. See to it that they're taken care of. Oh, but first, thank O'aka too and give him the proper payment." She nodded and left.

Cid knew that Kinoc had just ordered somebody else dead. He just didn't know who. And what did he mean by 'give O'aka the proper payment'? His just reward of a bullet between the eyes or the money that O'aka had apparently accepted in exchange for offing Lulu? He just couldn't know. Both possibilities were disturbing.

"I'll bet excuse after excuse is running though your head right now," Kinoc said, staring intently at Cid again. "'We don't start wars; we're Zanarkand.' 'We weren't informed.' 'Our intelligence was sound enough.' 'Sanctions wouldn't work.' No, it's none of that. It's simpler than that. You're both just cowards. Just as cowardly as you think I am."

'I'm not the bad guy.'

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 70 ~ _**

"Is it clear?" Lulu whispered.

Auron shook his head. He pointed to his eyes, held up three fingers, and then pointed down the hallway. Belgemine, who had also been watching him, nodded and raised her firearm.

"They will kill without question, I guarantee you," she whispered. "We can't risk it."

Another minute or so passed before Lulu asked, "What are they doing now?"

"They're waiting . . . hold on," Auron said. He held up his right hand, made a "phone" sign with it, and again pointed ahead.

"We should go now, shouldn't we?" Lulu asked. "I mean, it makes sense, while they're distracted, to–"

She was cut off by Auron making an erratic throat-slashing gesture. He repeated the sighting sign of the three men, but now held up only one finger. Two of them had left. Lulu watched impatiently as Auron and Belgemine looked at each other briefly and went back to watching their respective hallway. Belgemine was crouched in the corner opposite hers and Auron's, and she was facing away from them, watching the stairwell to their rear. A red light pulsated against the concrete walls around them, lighting the staircase that seemed to infinitely rise and descend above and below them.

"Clear," she repeated again, as she was instructed to do every thirty seconds. Belgemine echoed her.

Auron shook his head again, holding up one finger, and again, repeating the 'phone' gesture. A few seconds later, he nodded curtly.

"All right, let's . . ." he trailed off, watching as his target held up the cell phone and pushed a button on it before hastily disappearing.

In front of them, one of the elevators pinged and its doors slid open. Instead of admitting more guards that would have surely seen all three of them, something worse was inside: a gasoline can, sitting innocently enough next to a battery. A rapid beeping echoed inside the elevator. The transmitter attached to the battery was beeping shrilly. Lulu began to cry out.

Auron beat her to it. "GO!" he roared.

The three gave no regard to their as they fled the bomb. Diving for cover as the floor ruptured behind them and the heat washed over them like the Fires of Hell, stealth was the last thing on their minds.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 50 . . . 55 . . . 60 . . . ~ _**

It seemed like this was the longest elevator ride of her entire life, as if it was ascending all the way to the heavens, where Yevon himself could personally decide her fate and the fate of all and everyone she knew and loved. Her gaze came to rest on Tidus. It seemed like he was feeling the same way. So unlike the sure-of-himself, rebellious man she knew, he looked visibly nervous. She also noticed that he was doing his best not to show it. The thought was able to make the corners of her mouth twitch in a feeble attempt at a smile. Suddenly, he looked up, noticing that she was staring at him. He flashed her the 'rock 'n roll' sign with his hand. Her smile widened a bit.

"Hmm, this elevator goes all the way to the hundredth . . ." Wakka suddenly piped up. "Doesn't matter. We're only going to the seventieth. We'll be there in no time. We'll rendezvous with Auron and we'll take Kinoc down." He was quiet, and was speaking to the floor numbers flashing by on the display above them. Nobody was sure if he was talking to them or himself. "I mean it," he continued, as they passed the 65th floor. "Everything's gonna be–"

The final word never passed his lips. They were all promptly thrown against the wall as the elevator jolted violently and the lights inside the elevator went out. The display cut off. A huge shudder that reverberated all through the shaft went unnoticed by all in the elevator as one of the girls screamed.

"AHHH! WE'RE FALLING! WE'RE FALLING!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 121 ~ _**

Cid and Kinoc had been staring each other down for quite a few seconds which, to Cid, felt like quite a few hours. His eyes kept floating back to that pistol, which at this range, wouldn't leave anything left of his head to identify. However, it didn't look like Kinoc had any intention of using it . . . yet. Once again, in a complete change from just a few seconds ago, he seemed completely calm.

"But if it eases your mind, I only wanted one person dead that night," Kinoc said, picking up their conversation right where it left off as if there had been no tangent. "And she really didn't do anything wrong. It would just draw Braska closer to my circle."

"What do you mean?"

"As idealistic and foolish as Braska may have been, he still knew when reality was threatening to bite him in the ass. He knew that Bevelle was up to something sinister, and I had shown him the data to prove it. The Stadium Attack was a means of proving it. All the necessary documentation was placed correctly so that it would look like the Bevellan Government was responsible for a terrorist attack against the Al Bhed. The second missile would coincidentally hit the Top Box where Yuna was watching the game, and everyone would just assume that it was just a horrible accident. The death of his daughter would cause him to finally see reality, he would come to trust me more, and I would offer him my position at the SIA in exchange for his on the DASC. He would have agreed, and no further deaths would have been necessary. Together, we would win the day!

"But alas, it didn't work out that way. I also underestimated Yuna's crush on that Tidus player for the Abes. So she changed seats so that she was closer to his Player's Bench, all the more for them to flirt in the disgusting 'I want to fuck you senseless but I can't say it' way that teenagers do these days." Kinoc snorted. "So that went to Hell. I had to come up with a Plan B. It was easy enough. While I was coordinating the response to the Stadium Attack, I came to the conclusion that the only other way for me to secure the job at the head of the DASC was to pave the way for Braska himself to die.

"I would have Seymour apprehended on the island I sent him to after I paid him off to accept responsibility for the Stadium attack. I entrusted Lulu to get him to confess to the crimes. Then the sniveling weasel would–"

"You even got Lulu in on this scheme?" Cid asked incredulously.

Kinoc laughed. "It wasn't hard," he said. "She was more interested in favors though. I promised her the prosecution in Seymour's eventual trial. But don't worry, she had no idea that I planned to kill him off before he could be arraigned. So in a way, you can't fault her for it." He shrugged. "People are easy to figure out, and Lulu is no different. She's a cunt. She wants status and power, and that's it. Pursuit of such things can blind a person to the real intents of other people."

Cid finally lost his composure. "That's no different from you, you cocksucking son-of-a–"

Cid's insult quickly turned into a suppressed cry of pain as Kinoc fired a round into his left shoulder. He convulsed in his chair as the bullet ripped through the flesh in his shoulder and shattered his collarbone, exiting out the other side and eliciting a bloody mist.

"Careful," Kinoc warned. "That's strike one."

Cid hissed through the pain, clutching his shoulder. He looked down at the wound. By some miraculous stroke of luck, it was still intact. However, it was safe to say that the powerful pistol had nearly blown his shoulder off. The pain was almost unbearable; it was all he could do to not roar in pain. But he wouldn't do it. Not in front of this motherfucker. He'd worked too hard, seen too much, and was too damn stubborn to let this treasonist know just how much it hurt.

However, as soon as he felt the building shake violently and saw the orange glow and smoke emerge all around him, all thoughts of his shattered shoulder vanished completely.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 70 ~ _**

Auron hissed through his teeth, slowly rolling over onto his back. He had landed both on the hand that Paine had shot and on his wounded leg. He could barely see through the white-hot pain searing in his eyes. In front of him, smoke billowed, and he could just now see a flickering, erratic orange glow. At the moment, he had no idea what became of either Belgemine or Lulu. Wincing, he slowly rolled over and got on his feet.

A quarter of the floor had been torn apart by the explosion. The elevator system on that side of the building had no doubt been destroyed, the cables snapped. Auron looked in the opposite direction, in the direction of the elevators that ascended and descended floor-by-floor (the others went to every tenth). There was nothing coming from that direction.

He had dived into an open office. Testing each limb carefully but quickly, he peeked around the doorframe, his gun extended in front of him. He spotted Lulu and Belgemine, who were stirring as well; both had chosen the cover of two nearby cubicles. Lulu looked shaken, but unhurt. Belgemine, on the other hand, had a wooden splinter about the size of a butter knife protruding from just underneath her ribs. Her eyes scrunched together and her teeth clenched, she slowly sat upright and grasped the splinter with her hand. She quickly wrenched the splinter from her body, stifling a shriek as she did so. The bottom two inches dripping crimson, she threw it aside and squeezed her wound gently, hissing through her teeth as the blood seeped out.

"I'll be all right," she said with a slight grimace, standing slowly and gingerly, testing her limbs. "It looks worse than it is."

"What . . . what the Hell **was** that," Lulu said as she got up and looked wildly around.

"Shh," Auron hissed. "You hear that?"

The three of them listened intently, barely making out the sound of frightened voices in a large room a few doors down, away from the blast.

"Should we check it out?" Lulu asked.

Auron and Belgemine looked at each other for a minute, considering it. Then they nodded. "We can't just ignore it," Belgemine reasoned.

All three clutched their weapons at their sides. Lulu, despite almost being blown up, was not afraid. It would be normal for Auron and Belgemine to be able to shake something like that off, but Lulu was, in a way, surprised that she wasn't more fazed. If anything, it made her angry. It pumped her up. Nodding to herself, she watched Auron and Belgemine carefully so that she could copy their actions. They withdrew their pistols and crept slowly forward, so, bringing up the rear, she did the same. Even though she wasn't afraid, her hands were shaking violently. 'Must be adrenaline,' she thought. Swallowing and exhaling deeply, she got rid of some of the shakes and aimed ahead.

Eventually they made it to the door. Auron pounded on it. "SIA!" he called. "Back away from the door and stack yourselves against this wall. Anybody else will be shot on sight."

He waited a few seconds before firing three rounds into the wood surrounding the doorknob and kicking the door in with his good leg. He and Belgemine stormed the room, sweeping either side with their pistols. Lulu, knowing her limits, stayed put to watch the hallway.

"Clear!" Belgemine called.

Lulu ran into the room, her eyes widening when she saw Leblanc, lead anchorwoman from SINN, cowered against the wall next to a single cameraman. She noticed that a damp stain had appeared on the floor between the cameraman's legs and was slowly spreading. Leblanc either didn't notice or didn't care as it inched ever closer to her.

"Belgemine!" Leblanc exclaimed, rising to her feet so fast that she almost fell over. The anchorwoman's voice drew Lulu into the room. "Lulu! Oh thank Yevon. Thank Yevon! We're saved!" She ran over and threw her arms around the district attorney.

Leblanc had interviewed her once and only once, and Lulu could barely recall the interview. Perhaps that's why, as politely as she knew how, she pried Leblanc from around her waist. The reporter's cheeks promptly flushed, and she muttered an apology and backed away.

"I'm sorry, they– we were here for a press conference about Seymour and– our camera crew, gone, except for him- they were going to come back for– bombs on every tenth floor– we were told to wait–"

"Hold on," Auron said, stepping forward. "What did you say about bombs? There's more of them?"

"Look out the window and see for yourself, love," she said.

Belgemine had already left the room to stare East down the hallway, and uttered an expletive that confirmed that Auron had heard Leblanc correctly. Lulu followed, and saw that the view of Zanarkand had disappeared out the window to their right, and was instead replaced by a black, billowing smoke cloud. Soot had coated the windows where snow had previously frosted them. They were, however, distracted once again by something different, a pinging sound in the direction of the elevators that **hadn't** been destroyed.

"Search the floor. Kill anyone you find!"

Lulu looked at Belgemine for clues as to what that meant. She shook her head. Right away, Lulu knew that the newcomers weren't friendly.

"Stay here," Belgemine barked at Leblanc and the cameraman. She, Auron and Lulu quickly left the room, staking out positions that gave them good cover of the hallway.

Leblanc turned to her cameraman. "People need to know," she said to him. He shook his head vigorously, wide-eyed and shaking. "We're reporters," she snapped. "I'm scared too, love. But I'm not going to just do nothing. Stay here if you want."

She exited the conference room and ran down the hallway in the direction Belgemine, Auron and Lulu had come from originally on the assumption that it was safe. As she sprinted, she withdrew a state-of-the-art audio recorder from inside a pocket of her pink suit jacket. She crouched in the hallway and checked to be sure that the tape was blank and rewound.

She clicked it on just in time to capture Belgemine somewhere in front of her, screaming into her phone.

_ "The building is under attack! Yes, dammit, the SIA! Execute! Execute now!"_

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 81 ~ _**

_ "Confirmed blast on 30."_

_ "Confirmed blast on 90."_

She walked slowly, quietly, purposefully down the hallway, now that the building had stopped shaking. Her pistol was in her hand as she walked, the silver glinting a little off the dim light thrown from the red fluorescent ceiling lights in the hallway.

_ "Confirmed blast on 20."_

_ "Confirmed blast on 50."_

Her right shoulder hurt immensely, but she hadn't had time to go get it treated. She had removed the bullet herself, and had injected her shoulder with a little morphine to dull the pain. She still felt it throb, but she didn't want to numb any part of her body completely in case she could use it for something.

_ "Confirmed blast on 70."_

_ "Confirmed blast on 60."_

The explosions had caused her to delay a moment. It had not only surprised her, but also threw her to the ground and disoriented her. She had quickly gathered her senses, counting herself lucky that no foes were around to do her in.

That was her first thought.

_ "Confirmed blast on 40."_

Her radio had been patched into the frequency now used by the men controlling the building. She used it to influence her movements around the various halls of the SIA. The soldiers in charge of the building could complicate things if she ran into them unexpectedly.

** They **didn't know that.

_ "Failed blast on 80."_

And neither, apparently, did O'aka.

A look of surprise was permanently frozen into the pudgy man's face, thanks to her. A thin red line ran from the hole in the middle of his forehead and down the bridge of his bulbous nose, running in a fairly constant stream onto the floor.

'How pathetic.'

_ "Failed blast on 100."_

_ "Failed blast on 10."_

Her eyebrows rose. She sped up, discarding the clip in the gun and reloading it with a full one.

'I don't have much time.'

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR ? ~ _**

Wakka wasn't sure who was whimpering, or if it was him, or if he was still alive, or whether it was him or the elevator shaking, or if he had just imagined everything. He heard a dull ringing in his ears. Was he deaf? In shock? Had he been hit in the head? Such thoughts didn't register with him; he only knew that one minute, he was ascending to the hundredth floor, and now . . . he had no idea.

It didn't matter. Now, he couldn't hear a thing. Was it silence, or **was** he deaf?

"We're okay," came Rikku's shaky voice. Good, he **could** hear. "We're . . . we're not falling."

It was only then that Wakka had noticed that the light in the elevator had gone out. They were in pitch blackness. It was a good thing he wasn't claustrophobic. It didn't sound like Rikku was either. Tidus and Yuna . . . he hadn't heard from them yet. On the plus side, everything appeared to be stable for the moment.

"What the fuck was that!"

Good, Tidus was all right.

He tested his limbs. His arms worked, although the left one sent pins and needles shooting into his chest. Both legs worked fine. He slowly shifted his weight, the thought of whatever shook the elevator shaft so violently at the forefront of his mind. Feeling a tickle above his eye, he went to scratch it. As he did so, he felt something warm between his fingers. Pulling them away, he saw that the ends were tipped in red.

Cries and shouts swamped his ears all at once.

"Yuna . . . Yuna!"

"Wh . . . what happened?"

"Oh, thank Yevon. Nobody's dead."

"Is everyone okay?"

Somebody began coughing uncontrollably. Yuna, he guessed. Fumbling numbly for his flashlight, he found it and turned it on, casting the beam around the elevator. He was right. Yuna was on her knees in the corner, hacking into her hands. Rikku was next to her, holding onto the handrails with both arms outstretched as if to steady herself. Tidus was sprawled on the ground, and appeared to be testing his own limbs. It looked like they were all okay. He couldn't see any blood on any of them.

"We have to get out of here, ya?" Wakka said, reaching over and helping Tidus up.

"How?" Yuna asked, now that she had stopped coughing.

"Can we move this thing?"

"I doubt it. And even if we could, I don't wanna chance it. Whatever shook this thing up was big. You're all okay, right?" Yuna, who had stopped coughing, nodded. So did Rikku and Tidus. "Great."

Ignoring the blood congealing in his eyebrow, Wakka passed the flashlight to Rikku, who took it and shined it on him, letting out a yelp of surprise at the large cut on his forehead. He also had blood running down the side of his face and dripping down his chin. He put his hand to his forehead a little more forcefully and winced when he felt the cut.

"Wakka . . . your face!" Rikku said. "Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about it. Shine the light on the ceiling grate, ya?"

Tidus was quick to put two and two together. "You gotta be fuckin' shittin' me," he said. "We're climbing up the shaft?"

"Got a better idea?" Wakka barked. "I don't even know where we are or if this damn thing works. And the sooner we get outta here, the happier I'll be."

As if to prove his point, they all heard another loud shutter reverberate rather close to them. Wakka instinctively put his hand against the wall to see if it was shaking. Sighing with relief when it was clear they were still stationary, he pulled a Leatherman tool from his belt and pried off the grate with little effort.

"You first, Ti," he said. "Help Rikku and Yuna up, and then you can all lift my fat ass. Got it?"

Tidus nodded and approached the vent slowly, testing his legs, it appeared. Wakka bent over and cupped his hands in a makeshift footrest. Tidus stepped on, and Wakka hoisted him up. A few grunts later, Tidus was through the vent and on top of the elevator, looking down at the rest of them.

"Shit it's dusty up here," he said, moving so that he was looking through the vent down at the rest. "Smells like smoke all kinds of hardcore, too."

"Smoke?" Wakka repeated, alarm in his voice. "How bad?"

"Well I ain't coughing," Tidus answered. "C'mon, let's do this thing."

"Yuna?" Wakka looked at her. "Go ahead. And be careful up there, Ti. No sudden moves, ya? We don't want this thing snapping on us."

Tidus looked startled. "Oh shit," he said. "Yeah, got it."

Yuna gulped and walked forward. Tidus stretched his hands through the small opening and gripped her arms tightly as Wakka helped push her up. When she was through, Tidus looked at her for a brief moment, not letting go of her. He half-smiled at her, squeezing her hands before turning away to help Rikku up, who squealed a little when she almost lost her balance.

"All right, my turn," Wakka said. "You got this?" he asked Tidus.

"Yeah."

"Hey, there's a number stenciled on the wall," Yuna called. "Sixty-eight. It's about twenty feet above us. Is that the floor number?"

"Yeah," Wakka replied. "We'll worry about that in a sec. C'mon, get me outta here, guys."

"Let me help you," Rikku said to Tidus, crouching on the other side of the opening and reaching out to Wakka.

About a minute later, and after a measurable amount of struggling by Tidus, Rikku and Yuna, they were all on top of the elevator. Dust and grease coated the roof. Outside of the beam of light cast by the flashlight, there was only inky blackness. None of them could even see their own hand when they held it out in front of themselves. They could hear the building shuddering loudly every so often, something that didn't sit well with any of them. In addition, it was very hot for some reason.

"It's getting smokier in here," Tidus remarked.

Wakka took the flashlight back from Yuna and began to shine it on the walls. Pointing it straight up, they found the source of the smoke - 60 feet above them, grey haze was flooding into the elevator shaft. At the sight, Wakka coughed slightly. He began shining the flashlight on the walls, quickly finding what he was looking for: a ladder that ran up the length of the elevator shaft.

"There it is," he said, handing the light back to Yuna. "They always put one in for this reason, just in case . . . freaky that we'd have to use it, huh?"

"Who cares? Let's get the fuck outta here," Tidus said.

"Wakka . . ." Yuna's shaky voice caused them all to turn and look at her, concerned. "What . . . what is that?"

The beam of light froze on the opposite corner of the elevator. She shined the light on the roof of the elevator, where it came to rest on a red gasoline can, a battery, and wires protruding from both. A little antenna was attached to the battery as well. One of the wires was hanging limply between the battery and the gasoline can. What appeared to be a transmitter attached to the antenna was slowly blinking green.

Wakka's mind blanked with fear. He stood there, frozen, not sure what to do, for what seemed like forever. Though he didn't notice the others, all were locked in a similar state of fear. Rikku, who was closest to the bomb, stumbled when she saw it and almost ended up landing in a puddle of grease. Yuna was the most rigid. She stood immobile, her mouth slightly agape, not moving the flashlight. She seemed to be holding her breath.

Tidus was the first to move, reaching over to touch the transmitter.

"NO!" Rikku shrieked.

Tidus withdrew his hand so fast that he hit himself in the face. Yuna jumped violently, shining the light on her cousin. Rikku's swirl eyes were almost popping out of her skull and her lips were pressed together so tightly that nobody could see them. She was breathing heavily and quickly. Her hands were gripping her hair, so hard it appeared, that she could probably rip it right out of her scalp if she wanted to. Tidus flinched at the wild glint in her eyes and backed slowly away from the bomb.

That seemed to unfreeze everybody. "It's okay," Yuna said hesitantly. "It's fine. He didn't touch anything. Let's just go."

"Yeah, what the Hell," Tidus said indignantly to Rikku. "You scared the piss outta me."

"Well you're the one who was going to fiddle around with a bomb and get us all killed!" Rikku shouted.

Wakka stepped forward, holding out his hands. "It doesn't matter. We're fine. But this thing may still be live," he urged, gesturing to the bomb. "I don't know. But Yuna's right. Let's get out of here so we don't find out, ya?"

Somewhere in the faint recesses of Wakka's mind, two and two had begun to equal four. Somebody had bombed the SIA itself. Somebody who knew how to work their way around countless security clearances, defenses, and cameras. That was the only way the bomb could have wound up here. One bomb of this size by itself wouldn't have done much. There must have been a coordinated detonation, with multiple explosives, in order to shake the building like that. However this one, for whatever reason, hadn't gone off. How many had, he didn't know. Nonetheless, that must have been what caused the shakeup.

Not that it mattered. He'd count his lucky stars later, if he was still around.

"Climb," he said softly.

"What?" Tidus asked.

"Go! Climb! Up!" Wakka said, more urgently this time, grabbing the ladder. "We have to get to Auron!"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 121 ~ _**

"Wha . . . what the Hell's going on?" Cid asked, horrified.

Kinoc chuckled. "Good question," he said. "Here. Why not listen for yourself?"

He pulled a radio off his waist and turned the volume up. They both listened as confirmed explosions were reported on the 20th, 30th, 40th, 50th, 60th, 70th and 90th floors of the SIA. When the report further went on to say that three of the blasts had not detonated as planned, Kinoc looked only mildly disappointed. It took a little while for Cid to actually believe what he was hearing. His fury and hatred had returned tenfold, so much so that it kept him rooted to the spot. Mouth agape, he looked up at Kinoc, who simply stared back expectantly, waiting for Cid to react more radically. When nothing else happened, Kinoc sighed, switching off the radio and moving it aside.

"You bombed the SIA?" Cid finally said incredulously, as if responding to a joke he didn't understand.

Kinoc nodded. "Don't worry, it's not enough to bring the building down," he said. "Besides, it was necessary."

"Fuck necessary. Fuck you," Cid spat. "It's all fucking 'necessary' to you, isn't it?"

Kinoc shrugged. "Think about it, Cid. How else could I explain your deaths? Another terrorist attack seemed to be the perfect way. And since I'm pulling the strings, more or less, the SIA is just as vulnerable as the Stadium was. There's no difference."

Kinoc stopped talking when he saw Cid shaking. His head was in his hands. The SIA director looked mildly surprised.

"It's okay, Cid," Kinoc said softly, like one would console a small child who had lost a parent. "You trusted me. There's no fault in that . . . I just wish your administration weren't so damned incompetent. You and Braska were content to let Seymour make the first move. Hundreds would die, but you'd be heroes . . . eventually, right? No, Cid. No. I couldn't allow it. You see, I tried to tell you to move, to act. Preemption was necessary against Seymour. You both knew he would deliver on his promises eventually. But neither of you would listen to reason. So I took action.

"The attacks were unavoidable, thanks to your administration's willingness to turn a blind eye. But I would fix the problem by getting rid of both of you, so that this wouldn't happen again. Those who died in the Stadium Attack were doomed anyway . . . possibly thousands more if I had allowed you to wait for Seymour to **really** make the first move. Nothing's perfect, right?" He sighed. Cid said nothing. He didn't even look up. Kinoc smirked. "By the way, I hope your daughter's okay."

Cid snapped up. "What have you done to her?" He wasted no time in getting up from his chair and leaning over the table so that he was right in Kinoc's face.

"Careful, Cid," Kinoc warned again. "I'm not finished. I'd hate to have to kill you before you know everything. I mean, come on. You at least deserve **that** much."

"What have you done with her?" Cid bellowed. "I swear to Yevon if she's hurt–"

"Don't get your balls in a knot," Kinoc interrupted, shaking his head. "I haven't done anything with her. She's here in the SIA, though I haven't the faintest idea why. **I** didn't have her brought here."

"Then why the fuck is she here?" Cid snapped.

Kinoc shrugged again. "I have no idea. None of my men know where she is now, though. Your niece, Yuna, with was with her too, along with that jerkoff Tidus and another agent of mine. They actually got away from my men. But it doesn't take a genius to figure out where they're headed, since they can't leave the building." He laughed. "I guess the question is whether or not they'll make it up here or whether they'll be sacrificed along the way as well."

Cid slowly sat back down, breathing heavily. "You better kill me before she gets here," he said. "For your sake."

Kinoc ignored him. "Where were we before this touching tangent? Oh, right. My plan to sacrifice. So anyway, trusting me wasn't the problem. Willful impotency, now that's another st–"

Kinoc never got a chance to finish his sentence. At that moment, one of the huge panels of glass that allowed for a view outside the SIA shattered into a million pieces as a fifty-caliber sniper bullet flew into the office, missing Kinoc by about 18 inches and blowing a hole in the opposite wall. The SIA director, by this time, had hit the floor, seeking refuge underneath the table. Cid had jumped violently when the glass shattered, but he was still in his seat.

He sniffed, looking down at the short man who had hit the floor. "So much for sacrifices, huh?"

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 70 ~ _**

"One down!" Belgemine shouted, as her target hit the floor, a gargled scream emitting from his mouth and blood pouring from the hole in his neck.

"I'm pinned!" Lulu screamed.

In the middle of the floor, Auron looked to his right as Lulu flattened herself against the ground while machine gun fire sprayed the doorframe right behind her. She caught his eye once the rain of bullets had ceased, and he nodded. He moved into the open, firing three shots at his target, who immediately ducked behind cover. As he did, Auron ran up the hallway before diving into an empty cubicle. Crashing against a file cabinet, he rolled into the corner, unloaded his magazine and checked his ammo, cursing when he saw the only two remaining bullets in his clip.

His aim would have been a lot better if it weren't for the lack of light. Even though the floor had been partially destroyed, the soft red fluorescent lights that lined every hallway were still working. Just the dim light alone would have made it difficult enough to see. However, there was also a faint haze in the air from all the smoke. To be sure, most of it was billowing out the windows, but he could still easily detect the acrid scent of melting plastic and other noxious chemicals.

"Dammit Wakka, where the Hell are you?" he cursed.

Lulu saw a figure ('I'm pretty sure that's Auron') briefly move into view before just as quickly disappearing down that hallway. The spray from the terrorist's submachine gun ripped a jagged line in the wall she was facing. Yelping, she pressed herself as flat against the ground as she could. She was fairly sure that the shooter couldn't see her, but there was no way in Hell she could see him either. Besides, her hands were shaking so badly that any shot on a terrorist would be nothing but pure luck.

She coughed as hot, stifling smoke filled her lungs from the wreckage not 20 feet behind her. "Shit," she hissed to herself once she had stopped. "Hurry Auron. I'm not going to last much longer." She was gripping her pistol so tightly that she had almost lost all feeling in her hands.

Belgemine didn't even notice the swarm of newly-arrived helicopters buzzing around less than a hundred yards from the window. She stood back into the hallway, firing two shots down its length. She looked in the direction where she had last seen Auron, but she saw nobody. He must have disappeared down another hallway. She was facing down the main one on the left. As soon as she finished firing, she flung herself across the hallway and down the one adjacent to it. Slamming herself against the wall, she looked down the new path as well as the one she had just been in to make sure that they were clear. If Lulu managed to defend her side (the opposite side of the floor from her), she wouldn't be flanked. However, it sounded like she was in trouble.

One of the terrorists suddenly shouted. "I lost him! The red one!"

"Fuck! Look sharp, people!" a second called.

"How many we got?" shouted a third and final.

"Three! Two spotted!"

A bullet tore into the wall Belgemine was facing, at which she whirled into the office in the safer hall. She thought she saw Lulu crouched in a doorframe of her own, but she couldn't be sure. And for the time being, she wasn't going to risk her neck to check. Pulling her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed a number and jammed it to her ear. There wasn't even a ring before her contact on the other side picked up.

Belgemine wasted no time. "Where's that damn backup?"

"They took out all the elevators, ma'am," the voice at the other end of the line said calmly. "The stairs are out too. We're going to have to get men in there by air, and that's going to take some time."

"How much time?" Belgemine snapped.

"About fifteen minutes."

"Dammit," she cursed, further irritated by the calm demeanor of her contact.

"I also got confirmation that the sniper attack failed," her contact reported. "The glass and the wind must have steered the bullet off course."

Now she was angry in addition to being a little scared. "Fuck it all!" She spat.

"It gets worse," the Deputy continued, now sounding very uncomfortable. "We've got a visual on Cid, but Ma'am . . . we lost Mayor Braska." Belgemine blanched. ". . . Ma'am?"

"Could . . . you say that again?"

Further back, in the direction they had all come from originally, Leblanc trolled the hallway. She had determined, from the shouting that she heard from Lulu and Belgemine, that this part of the floor was safe from any gunmen. At that moment, two shots rang out, and she jumped. She was startled by the gunfire every time. Pacing back and forth, she remained as silent as possible so that the only sounds the audio recorder picked up were the others and the gunfire that erupted every few seconds. She felt only slightly comforted by the fact that she kept hearing Belgemine's voice. She hadn't heard Lulu since she screamed that she was pinned down, and she hadn't heard Auron at all. Her worry intensified.

She decided to break the silence briefly. "This is Leblanc, loves. Gunfire has broken out on the 70th floor of the Spiran Intelligence Agency immediately following a series of explosions in the building. The situation is unknown. However, I do believe we are currently in the midst of a second attack." She jumped again before ducking instinctively as she heard the _ratatatatatatat_ of the machine gun.

Belgemine had used every ounce of willpower to put the conversation she had just had out of her mind. Cid was still alive, and that was more than enough reason to keep going. Taking a huge deep breath, she moved out of the office and down the hall. She was now at the corner where her path met the middle hallway. She got down on her knees and quickly peered around the corner. There were several bullet holes up and down this hallway. A shadow moved at the other end of the hall, and she quickly whipped herself back around as two blasts emanated from the shadow's direction. In the silence that followed, she carefully poked her head back around the corner. To her horror, another shadow moved into view from inside an office much closer to her. She reflexively raised her pistol, but the shadow held up its hands. She nodded and lowered the gun.

Auron extended his arm and made a firing gesture with his good hand while he still had Belgemine's attention. She saw it and understood. He crouched in the doorframe, waiting for the Deputy Director to give him some covering fire. When her gun blasted to life, he sprinted down the hallway until it met with the next perpendicular one. He dashed as fast as he could down that hallway and tucked himself in between two vending machines.

The terrorist with the machine gun was very close now; he had a clear shot at him. The poor bastard had been too busy focusing on trying to eliminate Lulu to remember to check his surroundings a little more often. Auron peered around the corner of the vending machine, waiting for the man to fire at Lulu again. Even better still, he had run out of ammo and moved out of Lulu's firing range to reload. Auron took that opportunity to put his last two bullets in the enemy's gut and head.

At that moment, he saw Belgemine rush up to him. "Good shot," she said.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Auron replied. "There's still two left, at least!"

"My damn gun jammed," she said. "And Braska's dead, Auron. He's gone."

Auron's eyebrows rose, and he swore vehemently. "Kinoc?"

"I'm assuming so."

"What about Cid?"

"He's still alive, as far as we know."

Auron nodded. "Good. We have to move, now," he said. "Give me your gun." He held out his hand for the pistol.

"No use. I already tried," Belgemine replied. "It's no good. It must have screwed up after I shot that barrage to cover you."

"Well, I'm out of bullets," Auron said. "So this isn't good." Belgemine was about to cut him off but he continued. "I think Lulu still has a working and loaded gun," he continued. "And as far as I know, this area's clear for now."

"Right," Belgemine agreed. "I'll go get her. Stay here and keep an eye out for the other two."

She ran down the hallway, toward the smoke and rubble. Before turning the corner to move in Lulu's direction, she stopped to check the commando that Auron had fallen. The gun was empty, and he had no pistol. It was too risky to load the machine gun, she reasoned, because it would take too long to search the body for a replacement clip. Shaking her head, she moved on, turning right. To her surprise, she saw Lulu approaching her. She was walking down slowly, carefully, pointing her gun at the end of the hallway she was in. When she saw Belgemine, her arm twitched as she pointed it at the Deputy Director. However, when she recognized her, she lowered the gun and ran to meet her.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly.

"Don't thank me, thank him," Belgemine answered back, nodding at Auron.

Auron looked unmoved. "I need your gun, Lulu," he said.

"Fine," Lulu said, quickly giving Auron the pistol despite the lack of an explanation as to why. "You'll do better with it anyway. Are there any terrorists left?"

"Two, we think," Auron replied. "And one working gun. We need to stick together."

"Uh . . . guys?" Lulu said, sounding fearful and pointing further down the hallway.

One of the doors to the stairwell was open behind them, further down the hallway. It had been closed when they last looked, and as far as they knew, none of the terrorists had come from that stairwell. Auron cursed and raised his gun. If these were reinforcements, they were done for. One gun for two terrorists was bad enough. Add another wave of them and they had no chance. He motioned for Belgemine and Lulu to watch the rear, and kept his gun trained on the doorway. However, nobody appeared from the other side.

"Either they retreated, or they got backup. If that's the case, then they're already in here, and we missed them," Auron concluded. "Dammit . . . all right. We need to–"

Auron was interrupted by the sound of gunfire to their left. It was a blistering volley of fire, but it sounded like the entire exchange was with many pistols as opposed to one machine gun. Auron motioned for all of them to begin moving parallel to the gunfire, which sounded as though it was coming from the north side of the floor, in the direction that the terrorists had first come from. He was thinking at a million miles a minute. He assumed that whoever had come through the door had gone around them. He still didn't know whether it was friendly or not, but he would assume the latter for safety's sake.

They had reached the northeast corner of the floor. The firing, by that time, had ceased. "Okay," Belgemine said. "Go!"

She whirled around the corner and pointed her weapon down the hallway, just as somebody on the other end did the same. They stared at each other with their weapons raised and pointed at each other. Auron, curious as to why Belgemine wasn't firing, peered around the corner as well.

"Clear!" he shouted.

The call was echoed by the other man, and they all lowered their guns and approached each other. Auron breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the shout, immediately recognizing the voice. He lowered his weapon as Wakka approached them, accompanied by Tidus, Yuna and Rikku. Leblanc was with them as well.

"Yuna is not to know what you just told me," Auron said to Belgemine in an undertone.

"Know what?" Lulu asked, curious. But she stopped as the other four approached them.

"Fuck, it's good to see you," were the first words out of Tidus's mouth.

Auron, surprised at his change of attitude, nodded back. "You too," he said, patting the boy on the shoulder.

"What's the story? And what in Yevon's name happened up here?" Wakka asked. Auron motioned for him to come close so that he could whisper in his ear.

"We're short two guns, and there's two guys left to clear out on this floor," Belgemine said.

"You can have my gun," Yuna said, handing her weapon to Belgemine. Belgemine pointed the gun at the far end of the cross-hallway, the one she and Auron had just come down.

"Son of a bitch!" Wakka said, punching the wall angrily as he came away from the conversation with Auron. "Motherfuckers!"

"What? What happened?" Rikku asked, looked at them apprehensively.

"No time to explain," Auron said, eyeing Leblanc's audio recorder warily. She looked sheepishly back, turning off the power and putting it back in her jacket pocket.

"We have get to the top floor now," Wakka added. He turned to Belgemine, eyes oddly shiny. "Any sign of the last two enemies?"

"You mean, you weren't shooting at them earlier?" Lulu asked skeptically.

"I don't think so," Rikku replied. "If it wasn't you guys, then it was somebody else."

"So now we have two forces to worry about," Auron said. He nodded in understanding. "Well, at least we know. All right, let's move. Eyes open, everybody."

They slowly advanced down the hallway. Auron and Belgemine, wielding pistols, led the way while Wakka and Rikku, also armed, brought up the rear. Tidus, Lulu, Leblanc and Yuna were sandwiched in between them.

With four people protecting them, Yuna felt surprisingly safe, but at the same time, felt as though she about to vomit. Earlier, when Wakka and Auron were talking privately and Wakka began to curse, Belgemine had cast a sympathetic look her way. However, when she saw that Yuna had been watching her, she abruptly looked away. The reason for the expression was oddly clear to her: something had happened to her father. She was too afraid to ask the ultimate question though . . . she couldn't.

"Holy shit," Tidus said as they unexpectedly stopped. "Were these the dudes?" He looked at Wakka, confused. "We didn't do this, did we?"

Wakka shook his head, looking equally perplexed. "No . . ."

They had reached the north side of the building. A few feet down the center hallway, laying on the ground side-by-side, were the last two commandos. Blood seeped from fresh bullet wounds in each of their foreheads. Their guns were laying nearby. Even more disturbing were the white phosphorous grenades around the belt of one of the terrorists. More disturbing still was that the other man had an identical belt, but his grenades were missing.

"He didn't throw any of these," Belgemine said. "He couldn't have. There were no other explosions."

"Let's not stand here worrying about it," Auron said, bending over to take the two remaining grenades from the other man.

The elevators that would take them to the top of the SIA were now right in front of them. Unlike the others, these two required a clearance card, a password, and a retinal scan in order to be accessed. The last 21 floors were accessible only to top-level officials of the SIA and other select operatives. At the same time, the elevators also had access to the top two floors: the offices of the Director and the Deputy.

Belgemine stepped forward and swiped her key card, entered a very long password, and scanned her eyes in the retinal scanner. The elevator doors glided open and they all quickly piled in, as Belgemine pressed the button for the 121st floor. A computer in the elevator prompted another key card scan, which she completed.

At that moment, they all heard something hit the ground inside the elevator. Those in front looked wildly around, and saw one of the white phosphorous grenades on the ground. Wakka moved to pick it up, but froze when he saw that the pin was missing. He looked at Auron, who he saw had both of his grenades still in his hand.

"GRENADE!" Wakka roared, kicking it as hard as he could.

For once, luck was on their side. The grenade didn't go off when Wakka kicked it, and it flew out of the blast range. Even as the doors began to close, the eight people flattened themselves against the side walls. Rikku, who was near the front, saw an all-too-familiar sight just before the doors shut entirely: a thin, silver-haired woman diving to avoid blast range of the grenade. It was too late to know whether the assassin had survived the blast.

"Auron . . ." she warned.

"I saw her," he said, nodding. "We'll worry about it when the time comes. For now . . ." He trailed off as he heard a sob. He looked in the direction of the noise, and saw tears streaming down Yuna's face.

"Is . . . is my father dead?"

Silence was her confirmation.

Belgemine bowed her head. "Hang in there Cid," she said to herself as they began to ascend to the top floor of the SIA. "We're on the way."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.3 ~~~~~**

**_~ FLOOR 121 ~ _**

Kinoc slowly rose from the floor, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands and slowly pulling himself up and back into his seat. As angry and disappointed as Cid was that the assassination attempt hadn't worked, he still got some small satisfaction at seeing the terrorist in this way. For once, before he died, he would get to see Wen Kinoc beneath him, if only physically. The man looked startled, but was unhurt. In fact, as soon as he had sat down, he started to chuckle.

The fury burned within Cid again. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" he snarled.

Kinoc said nothing for another thirty seconds or so. He just continued to chuckle. As his laughter died down, he reached underneath him and pulled out both the pistol and the Uzi.

"You just don't get it, do you?" He finally said. "Even now, what you and your allies just did . . . there would be chaos. Just the kind of chaos that I've set in motion. The assassination of important people. The lies we'd have to tell to cover it up. The mistrust that the people would feel would last for years. Only, **I** would do something about it. I would alleviate their fears. You'd govern Zanarkand just as you did before all of this." He chuckled again as he pointed both guns at Cid. "It's so funny, just how alike we really are."

"You were the only one planning to lie," Cid countered. "And Braska and I were fool enough to trust you, you're right. Let history judge us as it will. In the meantime, you take that God complex can cram it up your insignificant, pudgy ass."

At that moment, the door to the office burst open. Both Kinoc and Cid looked in the direction of the door, startled. Both Kinoc and Cid smiled with satisfaction as Auron, Wakka and Belgemine burst into the office with their pistols raised. Both Kinoc and Cid were surprised when Tidus, Yuna, Rikku, Lulu and Leblanc followed. Relief washed over Cid when he saw that Rikku and Yuna were unhurt. They spread out, forming a quarter-circle in front of the door.

"Wen Kinoc," Belgemine said, loudly and clearly, stepping forward with her pistol pointed at her boss. "You're under arrest for treason against the city of Zanarkand and crimes against humanity. Lower your firearms and come peaceably."

Yuna had broken away from the circle, running to her father's body on the floor next to Cid before crouching down next to it. She buried her face in his dress shirt and wept. Tidus moved in her direction as well, kneeling next to her and putting his arm around hers. He didn't say a word. Kinoc did not move to stop them.

"Pops!" Rikku cried, rushing to her dad. "What happened to your shoulder?" The gaping hole in her father's shoulder almost made her faint.

"HAH! This sonuvabitch's talking is far worse than my shoulder," Cid said. "Go to your cousin."

Rikku obeyed, meeting Tidus and Yuna on the floor. "Tidus, let me," she said softly. "Please."

Tidus looked like he was about to protest his being cut out, but he thought better of it and shifted so that Rikku could hug her cousin gently. They cried together as Tidus watched silently. He felt awkward, uncomfortable, and slightly left out. But at the same time, he was not going to leave.

"Rikku . . ." Yuna sobbed. The blonde nodded, shifting position so that Tidus could also comfort her. She moved closer to her dad.

Kinoc had been watching all the while, the somber expression back on his face. "Far be it for me to deny such a wonderful girl the right to mourn," he said. "Nobody here can say that I'm completely void of compassion." He rose from his chair, pointing the semiautomatic weapon at Auron and completely ignoring Belgemine's order. "So, here we are," he continued. "Together at last. You brought the whole crew, didn't you Auron?" He scoffed at the man in the red trench coat, his amusement rapidly giving way to anger. "The Deputy Director, a lawyer, witnesses, and the press. You always were efficient." He laughed.

"Kinoc. It's over." Auron said. "You're finished. One way or another, you're going to answer for your crimes, either to the Zanarkand Supreme Court or to Yevon in the Farplane."

At that moment, the radio crackled to life on the desk that Kinoc and Cid had been sitting at. The voice coming through was full of static, and panic. Those in the room could barely make out what was being said.

_"CCDP! On the roof!"_

_ "More on the ground!"_

_ "They're storming the building! Fall back! Fall back!"_

Kinoc scowled at the radio. "Yes . . . it appears I am," Kinoc agreed, nodding. "You're absolutely right. So let me give you some parting advice." He rose from the chair, and Auron, Wakka, and Belgemine leveled their pistols at the man even more. "Save some room in prison for the citizens of this city. You're going to need them, once the place has torn itself apart." At this point, he had begun to back up. Auron cocked his pistol, and so did Wakka and Belgemine. "It's probably the only place you'll be able to protect them from themselves. Well, that and the Harbor View nuthouse."

Suddenly, another person with a silver gun entered the office. Rikku yelped and grabbed for the gun she had tucked into her jeans, pointing it at the assassin, who in turn leveled her gun at the blonde. Rikku also noticed, with a small feeling of triumph, that the part of Paine's shirt that covered her right shoulder was stained by a small red circle. They stared at each other for what seemed like ages, each looking as stoic as the other. Kinoc watched all this with impatient amusement.

"Good timing, Paine," he said. "We were just talking about the institution you'll call home soon. I assume you know Auron and Rikku rather well by now." Nobody moved or said a word. Then Kinoc spoke again. "Well, what are you waiting for? Make yourself useful and finish what you started. Kill the girl and the bartender." He snorted derisively.

"Kinoc!" Belgemine said loudly. "This is your last warning. Lower your weapons and surrender."

The tension in the room felt like a suffocating gas to Rikku, but she wasn't afraid. She had no intention of firing her gun. Casting a quick side glance at Yuna, who was watching her fearfully, Rikku smiled at her softly before turning back to Paine and setting the gun on the table.

"I'm not letting you win," she said to the assassin. "Do what you have to."

"Rikku! No!" Cid and Yuna both shouted, the former getting up to embrace his daughter, but she held out her hands.

"No, pops, it's all right," she said. "It's better this way." She turned to Paine. "Go on. Get it over with, already. Just . . . make it painless." She tried her hardest to ignore the strangled cry she heard from Yuna.

Paine's hand twitched.

Before Rikku could register what had happened, Paine had swiftly changed her position, swinging her arm around to the right and firing as fast as she could at Kinoc. Though Paine had beat him to the trigger, he had the better gun. After her one round struck him in the stomach, his submachine gun blasted to life as round after round entered Paine's gut, arm, legs, and chest. She spiraled as the rounds hit her and fell to the ground, her arm flapping out and lobbing the silver pistol at Rikku's feet. Whether this was intentional or not, Rikku would never know. Kinoc was doubled over, both pistol and submachine gun still in his hands as he coughed and spat blood from his mouth. He began to stagger backward, but maintained his balance.

Rikku let out a half-laugh, half-sob as she walked forward on shaking legs and knelt beside Paine, who was still alive. This was miraculous; over a dozen bullets had pierced her skin. Blood began to pool around her on the turquoise carpet, and a razor-thin red line trailed from her mouth and down her alabaster cheek.

"Half a million people . . . walking the streets of Zanarkand. Somewhere . . ." she whispered. Rikku leaned in closer. "Somewhere there's a shooting. One of those people dies . . ." She retched, and the thin line of blood briefly turned into a fountain. "And t-this, me . . . do you think you should care?"

Paine was then forever still. Rikku reached over, gently closing her eyelids. She hadn't expected a lump to form in her throat.

Auron, who had been watching carefully, turned his attention back to his old boss. "Come," he said. "You must repent. One way or another."

"Oh, I'll be repenting, all right," Kinoc rasped, coughing and spitting out more blood. He continued to slowly stagger back, and as he moved, he placed the Raging Bull to his temple. "As much of a prick as I am, I always thought I could trust you and count on you as a friend, Auron. But I was wrong. So yes, I'm repenting. I'll be repenting forever. But guess what?" He laughed, a self-satisfied laugh. "So will you."

He was at the edge of the shattered window, framed by the brilliant colors of the rising sun. It was certain now what he was going to do. Auron, Wakka and Belgemine swiftly moved forward, and Auron opened fire. He emptied his entire clip into the SIA director. It was too late. Kinoc tilted over the edge, and pulled the trigger on his Raging Bull.

Before he did so, he fired off the submachine gun for the final time. The bullets did not hit Belgemine, Wakka, or even Auron, who recoiled, as if expecting his final feeling to be that of the searing pain of the bullets ending his life. He felt nothing. No excruciating pain, not even lifelessness. He was still alive. Who had been shot? Had he missed?

No.

Kinoc vanished into the void, falling 1500 feet to the ground below.

On the floor, Tidus lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

Auron didn't even register bounding over and checking for a pulse that wasn't there. And was that Yuna screaming? It couldn't be her. The noise was inhuman.

"_NOOOOO!_"

* * *

Okay, let's talk about this. A lot of stuff went down just now.

**O'aka**, I'm doubting few people cared about. It just seemed appropriate to get rid of him.

**Kinoc**, I doubt anybody liked. He was supposed to be the uber-villain, and he just needed to die.

The other two, on the other hand, I think demand some attention.

I had been struggling with the idea of offing **Paine**, may favorite character in this story, up until about a week ago. I had a very hard time making the choice that I did, but I did it for one reason. I didn't want to get rid of her. And so I asked myself: why? She was plainly evil. She obviously didn't care about anything or anyone. She said her sole reason for letting Rikku live was based on instinct. Yet, at the same time, she protected Rikku on more than one occasion. So how seriously can we take Paine when she says what she says and acts the way she does? Her death allows me to pose that question most effectively, because that's what this story is about for me: people and the way they behave, and how we are to interpret that. It makes you think.

I didn't have as much of a problem getting rid of **Tidus** as I did Paine, but I still felt bad about it. I liked writing for him. However, you will see when I post chapter 18 that, had he been alive, writing the chapter and in effect the end of the story in the way I want to would be impossible.

All in all, I will tell you this: I will resolve everything. It will not be a completely downer ending. Even if you happened to be as attached to these characters as I have become, I beg you to understand, and to have faith that there will be resolution.

Anyway, I think that does it. The wait shouldn't be nine months this time; I've had plenty of time to think about the 18th and final chapter. It's pretty much written itself out in my head. It will be a full-length chapter, but it will have a very strong 'epilogue' feel to it. Once I'm able to put this chapter behind me and sit down, I expect it will move rather quickly. Then again, I've said that before and turned out a liar. I don't know; you make the call.

As always, I greatly appreciate feedback, and especially this time. I would rather not see rage-laden reviews, but if you're upset with the way it's turned out, feel free to express that. I doubt I'll go back on what I've written, but who knows . . . maybe I'll have a change of heart.

Anyway, please review. And always take care of yourselves. I'll see you soon. And then, this story will be finished.

~ SirGecko ~


	18. Zanarkand, Full Circle

Hello for the final time. Because I wanted to sit on this chapter for awhile, just to make sure I was satisfied with it, I decided not to upload it until today. Besides that, life's a whirlwind. For the sake of tradition, I apologize for the late update and thank you all for tolerating my unparalleled unreliability.

So here it is at last: the final, last, closing chapter of this story. Three and a half years later, it is here! I'm probably happier about that than most of you. Anyway, it's only fitting that I go out with a bang, so you'll be happy to know that this is the longest chapter in the entire story, at 27.5 pages. Savor it, I guess, haha. It's up to you.

There will be no summary of what happens in the chapter, but just a general overview of the tone. Prepare for a roller coaster. Up until now, the story's timeline spanned around three weeks. This chapter covers roughly eight months. Couple that with the aftermath of a second terrorist attack and characters reacting to death, and this chapter may seem very bizarre compared to the rest. The entire chapter's premise is that of one of Yuna's journal entries, combined with related flashbacks and some things happening at the time that she is writing. There's no real convoluted element, but I'm still throwing a lot at you at once. But I didn't want to stretch the final moments of the story into two separate chapters. It just worked out better this way. Plus, I've had this ending envisioned in my head the entire time I've been writing this, so you're kinda stuck with it. :)

Just read and enjoy. I'll have an epic author's note at the end.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Zanarkand, Full Circle

* * *

**

_What a whirlwind it's been! It's been such a long time since I wrote anything in here. I remember it being given to me on the day I met Tidus, November 22nd. Thankfully, I wrote an entry in here on that day, so I know the date I met him. Thank Yevon, because I would have forgotten otherwise! November 22nd . . . wow, It's been almost a year! For a while, I had forgotten that I even had this, but I'm glad I found it. I've wanted to write about everything that's happened, and now I have the time and the will. I can hardly believe it. So much has happened since then. My life has changed so much and in so many ways. It would probably take the rest of the pages in this journal for me to be able to talk about everything. For my own sake, I will try and keep it short. It's only now that I feel like I can write about all that has happened without breaking down._

_ The last months have been very difficult, though I'm better now. In the very beginning, there were no ups and downs, only downs. I told myself that my grief was only temporary, that I would eventually move on and life would return to normal. I remember having to tell myself that over and over again in the early days. It became a mantra, almost. I kept telling myself that if I said it often enough, I would eventually believe it. That moment came a lot later than I thought it would, and I almost gave up on ever believing that things would be even close to all right. _

_I owe so much to so many different people for helping me work through it all. And that was in addition to their own problems. The sad thing is that I'll never be able to repay them, and I know none of them would ever let me either. _

_ Of course, my wishes have always been Maechen's commands. He's always had my best interests at heart. At first, I was upset that he wouldn't step out of his servant persona, and just be a friend. Thankfully, it didn't take me long to figure out that he was being a friend, but in the only way he knew how. We'd had that kind of a conversation before, but this time it actually sank in. He wanted to be my friend and caretaker at the same time. At first, I was reluctant to say anything about what had happened to me, and for the same old reasons. He always needed to pry to get me to talk about what was on my mind. I didn't want him to have to pry. I really didn't. But for some reason, I do that to him. He wouldn't hear my apologies for it, either. I think he figured out quickly, though, that I was just being myself just like I figured out that he was just being himself._

_ He did the nicest thing for me too. A few days after Father was killed, he got on the phone with everybody who had been in Kinoc's office that day. 'They all had such busy schedules,' I told him. How was it possible? Besides, I didn't want them inconvenienced on my behalf. He told me there was no inconvenience and that he "would make it happen." I remember him saying that word for word. He thought it was necessary and appropriate, not just for me, but for Rikku and Cid and everybody else as well. Cid and Rikku had already agreed. We had already sat down once to spend some time together, but it didn't really do much. Not that I could blame either of them. They were sad too, but they felt that I had lost more or something. They weren't really sure what to say to me. It was my fault, really. I just felt so guilty._

_ I guess Maechen was tired of seeing me so sad. So he called them. He called them all: Lulu, Belgemine, Auron, Wakka, Leblanc. They all quickly agreed to help me, to help us. Lulu even offered to host the get-together in her office. I was overwhelmed by the gestures. You see now why I feel so indebted to them?_

_ Unfortunately, and I feel horrible for this, I wasn't so receptive of the idea then. Was I the only person who thought it was too soon? Neither Father nor Tidus had even been laid to rest yet! I talked to Maechen about it. I told him that I just didn't think I was ready. I couldn't talk about it yet. For Yevon's sake, I just lost my father and my boyfriend two days before! I didn't even know how I felt, so how could they? _

_ I guess I was worried that everybody would try to be my psychiatrist. I was in no mood to be counseled. I needed my time to mourn, and it would probably take me a long time. When I told Maechen what I was thinking, he understood . . . to a point. All he said after that was, "Yuna, if you go, you don't even have to say anything. You can just listen. They'll understand. Nobody's expecting anything of you." He was almost willing to cave and cancel the whole thing at my insistence, but when I realized that he was right, I relented. _

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Office of the District Attorney.  
14:26.  
Friday, December 20. _

"Maechen, I presume?"

"That's correct, Miss. A pleasure to meet you." The elderly caretaker entered Lulu's spacious fourth floor office and shook her hand warmly. "Yuna will be along shortly," he added.

Lulu nodded. "Er, Maechen, I'm just going to be up front with you, because I can, all right?" The old man looked at her curiously, inviting her to go on. "I'm not going to say much to Yuna," she continued. "I don't know what to say. It really isn't my place . . . hosting this meeting was my way of conveying my condolences."

Maechen shook his head. "And I am grateful," he said. "Nobody's obligated to say anything, Miss. You're fine."

Lulu looked slightly relieved. "Great," she said. "Now that we've cleared that up, would you like some coffee?" she asked.

Maechen looked up again. "Thank you very much, but I probably shouldn't," he said. "I wouldn't say no to an ale, though."

Lulu's eyebrows rose, and she smiled. "Early start on the weekend, hmm?" She walked behind her desk and pressed the intercom button on her phone. "I don't blame you." The intercom beeped. "I need beer in my office ASAP," she said into the phone.

A male voice at the other end replied. "Sure thing, Lulu."

At that moment, Wakka entered the office, followed by Rikku and Cid. Both Lulu and Maechen raised their eyebrows when they saw the newcomers. The new Mayor of Zanarkand appeared the most presentable of the three, even with the arm on the same side as his injured shoulder in a brand-new sling. However, he might as well have been a zombie in a suit for how distracted (and medicated) he was. Fresh out of the hospital two days ago after extensive shoulder surgery, his eyes were unfocused, his face completely blank. He just stared straight ahead. The death of his friend was weighing heavily on his mind, as well as his new responsibilities as the new Mayor.

Wakka's eyes were bloodshot, and it looked as though he hadn't shaven in several days. His hair was a mess, and the jeans and shirt he wore were very wrinkled, as though they had just been pulled out of the dryer. Rikku looked the worst of the three. Her eyes, which had large purple bags underneath them, were also very red and her head drooped. In one hand she clutched a handkerchief, and in the other was a package of cough drops. It was only then that Maechen realized what the blanket under Cid's good arm was for.

"Oh dear," Maechen said upon seeing her.

She blew her nose. "I'b sorry," she said thickly. "I probably should have stayed hobe."

Maechen shook his head. "Don't apologize," he said. "It must be the stress and the chill. Come, let's get you comfortable."

Lulu buzzed her intercom again. "And a cup of lemon tea," she barked into the phone.

Coughing into her handkerchief, Rikku slowly walked forward and plopped herself unceremoniously in the closest armchair. Wakka and Cid followed, the latter man taking a seat next to his daughter and resting his hands in his lap, looking straight ahead of him in the direction of the window looking out over the city. Wakka sat with Rikku in her chair (they were large enough to fit both of them). He wrapped the blanket around each of them and held her close. She looked up at him with a small smile before promptly turning away to hack into her handkerchief again.

"So . . . we're just waiting on Auron, Belgemine and Leblanc," Lulu said.

At that moment, Belgemine strode into the office. "I apologize for being late," she said briskly. "Unfortunately, damage control is a full-time job."

"How is it out there?" Lulu asked.

Belgemine took a vacant chair, sighing heavily. "Let me put it this way. If somebody so much as kills a cat, the whole city's going to snap. Half of them want me in front of a firing squad." She shrugged. "The other half are too busy mourning Braska to be angry."

"Don't worry . . . we'll figure it out," Cid said distantly, not looking at her. Belgemine looked at him, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Lulu nodded. "I'm sure that once the DASC is through investigating the SIA, you'll be fine. Kinoc **was** acting alone, right?"

Belgemine nodded. "As far as I know," she said. "I didn't know anything at all about his plans until Wakka and Auron brought it to my attention."

There was a knock on the door. Everybody but Cid looked up, expecting to see Yuna. Instead, they saw Leblanc tentatively poking her head inside the room.

"Hello, loves," she said, smiling hopefully. However, when nobody returned the smile, she quickly got rid of it. Reddening a little, she walked over to Lulu's desk and laid a very tiny cassette tape on it. "I wanted to talk to you about this after we're finished," she said. "It's what I got while we were all in . . ." She trailed off, clearing her throat when she saw who had just appeared.

Yuna was standing in the entrance to the office, leaning against the doorway. She also clasped a handkerchief, but for an entirely different reason than Rikku. Her gaze was cast down at the floor, and she shook slightly. All who were sitting down instantly rose from their chairs, and Leblanc quickly made her way around her desk to greet her.

"Yuna," she said, crossing to the girl and briefly touching a hand to her cheek. "We're so happy you came."

Yuna looked up at her for a few seconds, not saying a word. Then, she shook her head. "I don't know if I can do this," she whispered. Those on the other side of the room, around the table, were just barely able to make out what she said. "It's just – I – I could barely bring myself to come in the first place . . ." She began to look around her, as if searching for an opportunity to flee the room.

"Yunie," Rikku said, sniffing and moving toward her cousin. "It's okay. I'm here. I'll help you." Yuna stopped, turning to look at her. "Please. I want you to stay."

A single tear descended from Yuna's green eye, and she quickly wiped it away. "All right," she said.

Rikku, looking much happier, sat down again, and Leblanc led her to one of the last empty chairs, the one right next to Rikku and Wakka's on the left. Yuna sat down slowly, intentionally keeping her gaze locked on the floor. She was afraid that she would completely lose her nerve if she made eye contact with any of them.

"Is . . . is Auron coming?" she asked quietly.

Lulu had also sat down by this time. "He's supposed to," she said. "Something must be holding him up. Do you want to wait another minute or two?" Yuna thought about it for a second, and she nodded.

As they waited, all seated around the large table, they were silent. Nobody said a word. Starting with Yuna and going clockwise, the seating order went from Yuna to Belgemine to Leblanc to Lulu to Cid, and finally Wakka and Rikku's shared chair. The two empty chairs were in between Lulu and Cid. A minute or two passed before there was a knock on the door. All looked up, expecting to see Auron. However, it was simply an employee of the building, carrying a 12-pack of chilled Luca Mist under one arm and a steaming mug of tea in the other hand.

"Thank you," Lulu said. "Bring them here, please." The young man obeyed, setting the case and the mug on the table before quickly leaving.

"Thanks," Rikku said quietly, leaning forward to take the tea. Beers were passed out to Lulu, Belgemine, Leblanc and Maechen.

Cid refused. "No," he said, his tone still unfocused.

Rikku looked up at him, surprised. "Pops?" she questioned. "You mean it?"

He nodded. "Yes," he replied. "There's never been a better time."

Everybody was silent again for a few minutes. The only sound to penetrate the air was the hiss of opening beer bottles and Rikku's constant sniffling.

"I talked with Tromell a few days ago," Cid suddenly blurted out. "After the swearing-in ceremony. He asked me when the memorial for Braska was." He paused, gathering his words as he heard Yuna stifle a sob. "I thought we should have it soon . . . in the next week or so." He waited for replies.

Leblanc was the first. "Where?" she asked.

"Well . . ." Cid trailed off. "I was thinking the Courthouse Lawn. I know the SIA's Full Circle Garden is bigger, but . . . given everything . . ."

It was determined, both by Cid and Belgemine, that the rest of Spira could not know the full truth about how Braska had been killed. Though it killed them both, they told the half truth: that he had been killed in a terrorist attack upon the SIA along with Kinoc, the Director himself. Both of them were unwilling to risk the inevitable panic that might have ensued had the people been told that this attack, and the one on the Stadium, were the work of the former SIA director. Unfortunately, this also required all of them to speak in equally glowing terms of Kinoc, as a fallen hero and a crusader for change. Cid was letting Belgemine handle the PR end of it. He had his hands full.

Kinoc was right. They had to lie to win.

"I agree," Lulu said. "Braska had faith in the system. But he challenged it at the same time. The Courthouse should do nicely."

"Yeah."

There was another moment of silence before Wakka piped up. "Is anybody angry about this whole thing besides me?" he asked. "I dunno, maybe it's just me, but I'm just really pissed off, ya?"

"For sure," Lulu said. "Especially since the bastard killed himself. I would have loved to have saved him the trouble." Cid nodded especially vigorously. Rikku and Yuna remained motionless.

"Well, Auron did the honors," Wakka said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Wasted that motherfucker."

"I thought he was coming," Leblanc said, checking her silver watch and looking behind her at the entrance to the office.

"So did we," Wakka replied. He shrugged. "I guess he couldn't make it."

"He could have," Rikku said. "If all of us could, he could have too. Beanie."

Wakka smiled as Rikku's cold stifled her insult. "I'll call him later and see what's up," he said. "He does drive that Corvette around, even in this weather. Maybe he finally slid off the road." He chuckled, but quickly stopped when he saw that nobody else was sharing in the lighthearted moment. "Sorry," he muttered.

Lulu decided to get them back on track. "What's going to frustrate me the most is the fact that I will never fully understand what happened," she said. "I just can't wrap my mind around it. Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"And we were all right there," Leblanc said. "I still have a hard time even getting my mind to accept it. It's surreal, loves. But we all saw it happen. All of it."

"Not all of it," Yuna muttered. They all snapped up as she spoke. "You didn't see all of it. Nobody saw . . . saw all of it."

While Leblanc, Wakka and Maechen looked very uncomfortable, Yuna, Rikku, Cid and Lulu were all silently agreeing with that statement for different reasons. Cid nodded, remembering his earliest encounters with Braska, and how the man had shown him a new and better life away from the war-torn island of Bikanel. Lulu nodded, remembering how her zealous quest for justice led her to employ unforgivable methods at Cometia in order to get Seymour to confess. Rikku nodded, remembering how a chance trip to a bar for a few drinks forced her to trade one horror (Tony) for another (Paine). Thankfully, while the memories came flooding back, she had a cold that she could blame her cracking voice and watery eyes on.

Yuna began to cry softly, remembering the few short times she spent with Tidus, and how absolutely wonderful they were. She remembered his discomfort with the fancy restaurant, and cheering him on at his last blitz game, and the first time they had slept together . . . and what that had meant for her. It was so much more than sex. It was _living._ And it was the first time she had ever been able to stand up to her father's overprotectiveness.

That brought with it an invasive thought.

_ "I don't care. Goodbye."_

'Oh Yevon, was that the last thing I said to Father?'

"I can only imagine how many people are going to show up at the memorial," Leblanc said, hunting for a change of subject. "There won't be a square inch of snow left to stand on in that park."

"I'll probably shut down the entire city," Cid said quietly. "Close all businesses, all offices, everything. Some will gripe, but they can all fuck off." He looked up. "Leblanc . . . I don't know what strings you can pull, but . . . if SINN is going to have any part in this, they need to talk to either me or Yuna first. This needs to be tactful and low-key. If they step one toe out of line, I'll kick their ass straight out of this city."

Leblanc looked at him, slightly nonplused. "I'm on a leave of absence, love," she said. "My producer put me on one as soon as he found out I was in the SIA. Dona's filling in for me. But I'll speak with her and tell her exactly that."

"Do," was all Cid said in reply.

"Pops." Rikku said, looking at her father. "Don't worry about it."

"Huh?"

Rikku sighed impatiently. "Let the bedia say what they want," she said. "You shouldn't care."

_ "I don't care. Goodbye."_

Yuna abruptly stood up from her chair, her face buried in her hands. The others looked up at her, startled. When she pulled her hands away, her cheeks were glistening with newfallen tears. She began to shake her head.

"I have to go," she stammered. "T-thanks." Before anybody could say anything, she bolted from the room.

By this point, it didn't matter to her who was watching. She ran down the hall until she came to the elevator, jabbing at the down button until the elevator doors opened. She pressed the button for the ground floor. As soon as the doors closed, she slid to the ground and let out a piercing wail. For her father, for Tidus, for everything she said and didn't say, for everything she did and didn't do. There just was never enough _time_! Her last words to Braska repeated themselves over and over again in her mind, echoing and reverberating, beating her conscience to a bloody pulp until all she felt was the grief and the guilt.

"I'm sorry, Father!" she shouted to the elevator walls. "I'm so so sorry!"

She got up just in time for the elevator to admit her into the front lobby of the building, attracting the attention of several people around her as she ran from the elevator, blinded by her tears. She didn't care. Oh Yevon, what would Cid and Rikku think of her if they knew what she had last said to Braska? There was just no way she could stand to be in that room with all those people when they thought she was deserving of their comfort. A person in right mind who knew the situation would tell her that, at the time, she was just angry about the circumstances of her and her father's last conversation, that she felt like her privacy was being invaded, and not that she flat out didn't care.

In retrospect, Yuna would agree that that was true. At the moment, however, she didn't see it that way.

She ran out of the building, fumbling in her jeans pocket for the key to her Rolls Royce. All she wanted to do at that point was to turn on the engine, run the heater and cry until she couldn't anymore.

"Yuna."

Auron was outside and moving to enter the building when she almost knocked him off his feet in her hurry to leave. She was intent on running straight past him, but Auron recovered quickly and caught her in his arms as she ran by. She struggled in his grip, but he held on to her with little effort.

"Let me go!"

"Where?"

"Just let me go!"

"Come with me."

"No! Let me go!"

She was about ready to give a particularly violent heave to free herself, but something stopped her. What was the alternative? Returning to the Governor's Mansion, once her home and sanctuary and now just a mausoleum for her father and all the memories associated with him? Where everybody would act awkwardly around her, unsure of what to say or do? What good was that?

She stopped struggling, burying her face into Auron's warm red overcoat, resigning herself to the emotion. In between sobs, she told him everything that was going through her mind. She told him of her regret for saying what she said to her father, the fact that that was the last time she had spoken to him, the fact that she didn't want to go back to the Mansion, the fact that she didn't feel deserving of the others' time, the fact that she wasn't even sure what she was crying about sometimes, and so much more that she couldn't remember consciously feeling. She told him everything she couldn't say to her family. The entire time she spoke, he said nothing. He listened silently, holding her close. They stood there for what had to have been at least ten minutes in the frigid cold, but neither of them noticed.

"I-I'm sorry," she hiccupped. "I don't even k-know what to cry about anymore. Father, Tidus, everything . . . I'm j-just sick of crying. I'm s-sick of feeling t-this way."

"It helps to talk," Auron said. "Do you feel better?"

"N-no."

Auron grunted, then chuckled softly. "You will. In the meantime, if you need a place to get away, my apartment's free. It's . . . a little emptier than I would like it to be."

"Are . . . are y-you sure?"

"More than."

She sniffed, pulling her face out of Auron's overcoat long enough to blow her nose. "Okay."

"Yuna!"

Auron looked up, and saw Cid, Rikku and Maechen standing underneath the awning shielding the entrance to the building. They were all looking at her with concern.

"She's all right," Auron said. "But she's going to come with me."

"Pardon me sir, but who are you?" Maechen asked protectively.

Wakka answered the question. "He's a good friend of mine," he said. "Tidus lived with him, ya? He's cool."

Maechen nodded. "Oh, I see," he said. "My apologies."

"We'll call later," Auron replied. Wakka looked as though he was about to ask a question, but Auron silenced him with a look.

"Yunie?" Rikku piped up, hesitantly, just before she sneezed violently.

At this, a small smile materialized on Yuna's face. "I'll be all right," she said, sighing and wiping her swollen eyes. "I'm feeling a little better now. I just need some time away. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay. Hang in there Yunie," Rikku said. She, Wakka, and Maechen went around the corner to their respective cars, disappearing from view.

Auron turned to her. "Shall we?"

A few minutes later, Auron and Yuna were in the corvette, the heat was blasting and they were driving away from the District Attorney's Office. The radio was tuned in to SINN, Dona's direct and blatant voice seeming so distant.

_ ". . . ongoing investigation into the attack on the SIA building in Zanarkand. We ask that you please remain calm as this crisis is dealt with. The Diplomatic Alliance of Spiran Cities, under the interim leadership of Rin, of Home, is launching a full investigation into the Spiran Intelligence Agency. Since these extraordinary circumstances have resulted in no DASC representation of Zanarkand and therefore no formal Chairman, the council has had to convene under emergency sessions. There has been no comment from Rin or the DASC as to who is responsible for the death of Wen Kinoc and the multiple explosions in the severely-damaged building, but he has hinted at the notion of Yevonite terrorists loyal to Seymour. At this point, it is all speculation, and he is reported to be considering other possibilities, including internal sabotage. _

_ "A number of prominent people are under investigation, including Belgemine, the Deputy Director, Cid, the Deputy Mayor of Zanarkand who was injured under mysterious circumstances that same morning, and Lulu, Zanarkand's district attorney, whose star had been on an unstoppable ascension into the power structure surrounding Zanarkand. Sources close to SINN have reported that she has a meeting with O'aka at the time of the attacks. As most of you are aware, he was found dead yesterday, though the cause of death has yet to be released._

_ "This just in: another dormant explosive device has been discovered inside the SIA. Like the previous one, it appears to have been set with intent to detonate, but something caused it to fail . . . bomb disposal squads have been combing the building since the afternoon of the attack, when it was reported that there were still bombs inside that had failed to go off. This makes the second one found by the authorities . . ." _

Yuna reached over and twisted the volume dial so that the radio was effectively silenced. Auron appeared not to mind. As they stopped at a red light, Auron reached in the back, feeling around for something on the floor. After a minute or so of groping behind her seat, his hand came back clutching a small box.

"I was in Tidus's room today," he said, "going through his things. I found this on his bedside table. He wanted you to have it."

He dropped the box in her lap, gunning the engine as the light turned green. Yuna, both curious and scared at what she would find inside the box, slowly pried the lid off of it. Inside, in between some jewelry box lining, was a silver necklace. It took her a minute to place it, but she eventually did: the piece around the chain was the symbol for the Zanarkand Abes. There was a note in the box as well.

_For the best damn fan a blitz player could ask for._

Auron looked over at her and saw the necklace glinting in her hand. "Hmm," he said. "I never saw him without that necklace on."

"Oh no," she whispered as she dropped the pedant and little scrap of paper back into the box and closed it, feeling her eyes well up. "I'm going to cry again."

By this time, they had reached 78th Street, and they got out of the car and ascended the front steps of the apartment building until they got to 202. Auron opened the door for her, and they stepped inside. The old radiator was rattling away in the living room, and it was surprisingly warm downstairs. The man took off his trench coat and hung it on the peg next to the door, which he closed and locked.

"Sit," he ordered gently.

She obeyed, sitting down on the couch. "Tidus brought me back here," she said quietly, staring at the threadbare cushion next to her. "After our date. We sat here and talked. Right here."

He grunted. "What about?"

Yuna was silent for a moment, thinking back to that night. "We talked about . . . well, personal stuff," she said. "It's hard to explain, really."

Auron sat down next to her. "I hardly ever saw him." He grunted again. "You, at least, got him to talk to somebody."

Yuna looked up at him. "Pardon?"

"My friend Jecht was his father," Auron explained. "They didn't get along. Jecht was a very poor father. It's a long story . . ." Auron said, trailing off and looking up at the stairs. "I suppose Tidus and I weren't much better."

"Why?"

Auron sighed, turning his gaze back to Yuna. His face was grim and full of regret. "I suppose we never gave each other the chance," he said. "Though that's more my fault than his." He shook his head. "When his father died, he made me promise to protect him. Because he couldn't and didn't. And I said that I would. And now . . ." He looked hard at Yuna. "I can do nothing but move on."

"You couldn't have known," Yuna said. "It wasn't your fault."

"It was," Auron said. "It is. And that's that. It's fortunate that you two got acquainted though . . . for both your sakes, I can tell."

"Hmm?"

"You were right for each other."

Yuna began to tear up again, but she stubbornly wiped them away, shaking her head. "Tell me, Auron," she said. "Tell me about him."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she said. "Tell me his story."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

_In the end, it was Auron who helped me the most. I don't blame the others for trying, but I think I just needed somebody to talk to who wasn't part of my family. We were all grieving for Father, all of us except for Auron. Somebody who was also grieving, but not for entirely the same reason. After he brought me back to his apartment, he and I stayed up late into the night, talking for hours and hours. I have a feeling that was the most he's ever said at one time (and even then, it still wasn't much!). He told me everything that came to his mind about Tidus, and even a few things about himself too. _

_ I won't retell everything, but it certainly made dealing with Tidus's death a lot easier. And in talking about it, I realized quite a few things myself. I hadn't known Tidus for very long at all, not even a month. I guess we were reaching out to each other for different reasons . . . Auron told me about how Tidus used to move from girl to girl before he met me. He was apparently really into alcohol too. This surprised me a lot. Other than the one night we went out on our date, he didn't drink in front of me at all . . . though I'm not sure that it would have mattered to me at the time. I doubt it would have. I was certain that I was in love with him. _

_ At least, that's what I felt at the time. I guess what this all comes down to is that, as much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I didn't really know him that well. Even now, I can't say with certainty that we would have stayed together . . . I would like to believe that we would have. It's all about give and take, after all. And I don't mind compromising . . . but I'm getting off track._

_ Anyway, I went through a battle with myself for some weeks afterward about **my** true feelings toward all of this. I look at myself, and I think about who I am. And I wonder why I would have been attracted to somebody who was so radically different from me in nearly every way. He was impulsive where I was used to being cautious and methodical. I respected my elders and authority. He didn't. He lived for the thrill of the moment, and things were always structured in my life. We were from two different classes, two different backgrounds. We were so different. Do opposites attract for that one very simple reason? Or, I guess the better question is whether or not opposites stay attracted. _

_ I still don't know._

_ I felt guilty because, deep down, I knew that the main reason I wanted to be with him was because I viewed him as a way out of my painfully structured life. However, it wasn't the only reason. Truth be told, I hadn't really had much contact with boys before everything happened with the Stadium and the SIA. What I told him the night we had sex was true: we shared similar pain. _

_ What a horrible reason to be in a relationship. _

_ But he was so nice to me too, in a goofy kind of way. He didn't reference to title, status, or anything; I was just Yuna. He was normal. Well . . . as normal as a professional athlete could be. But that was another thing; he really didn't boast about it all that much. Well, to me, anyway. I've heard quite the opposite from both Auron and Wakka. Auron told me too that Tidus had gotten into blitzball almost solely so he could show his dad up, when he was still alive. Was it possible to loathe your father so? I had no idea._

_ Ahh, look at me. I'm rambling! _

_ Auron let me stay at the apartment as long as I wanted, which I was grateful for beyond measure. The next week was one of the most difficult in my life . . . we had the public and private burials for Father, and the day after that, Auron buried Tidus. As much as I felt comfortable talking to Auron, I just couldn't talk to him about the funerals. I knew they were coming up and that I would be a wreck, but I just didn't know what to say. He was dealing with it in his own way, and I was not going to interfere, both for his sake and mine. I allowed myself to be on my own._

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Courthouse Lawn.  
13:57.  
Saturday, December 28. _

Yuna dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes, shivering violently underneath her blanket and four layers of clothes. The ceremony was about to begin. She gulped, feeling the dryness in her throat, a result of the cold, nerves, and her crying. In her gloved and shaking hands, a single piece of paper slowly jerked back and forth, her speech painstakingly crafted on it. She looked around her, at the small row of bleachers that had been hastily set up and brought into the park. The seat had only just begun to warm up in the frigid weather. The sun was behind overcast clouds, but thankfully, it wasn't snowing and there was no wind, so it could have been worse.

She kept her eyes trained on the ground, where she saw a solitary blade of dead grass poking through the sheet of ice that had formed on the ground from compacted snow. She fixed her gaze on it; better she stare at this than the mass of people that had amassed in the park. It was one of the aspects of this ceremony that she wasn't sure how to handle . . . it really was overwhelming. On this day, one of the coldest in Zanarkand to date at more than 20 degrees below zero, more than a million people had crammed themselves shoulder to shoulder to pay their respects to their fallen mayor (SINN would later report that nearly half a million more people crowded Yevon Avenue as Braska's hearse slowly rolled by). Like her, many came with handkerchiefs or tissues.

Rikku turned to her, smiling reassuringly. "You'll be great."

"Yeah . . ." was all Yuna said. She wasn't sure if she meant it or not. A look at Rikku, who looked absolutely awful, caused her some concern. "Are you okay? You're over your cold, right?" The small talk helped to distract her.

Rikku shrugged. "Nightmares." She turned away, wrapping herself tighter in her blanket.

Yuna looked to her left, just in time to see Cid rise. "Yuna," he said, "it's time."

She rose with him. As those in the front of the crowd noticed, they too looked in the direction Cid was. Like a wave, the entire crowd was eventually looking behind them, watching in complete silence as a white hearse slowly crept up the street toward them. A large flag, emblazoned with Zanarkand's crest, trembled slightly as the car slowly proceeded. Bagpipes wailed, seemingly in the distance, playing the anthem of the city, which, in an instance of horrid irony, was called, "Someday the Dream Will End." It was a surreal and majestic song intertwined with sadness and longing, meant to signify that Zanarkand, built on the northernmost point in Spira, was literally the End.

Of course, the song meant something else today.

Over the next couple of minutes, the hearse completed its journey to the Courthouse Lawn, stopping in front of an enormous table that was lined with roses of every imaginable color. The timing was perfect so that, the instant the hearse inched to a stop, the last quavering note of the anthem hung like stubborn smoke in the chill afternoon air. The musicians lowered their bagpipes. Yuna, who didn't realize she'd been holding her breath, gasped for air as discreetly as she could. In her peripheral vision, she could see Rikku turn to look at her, but she ignored it.

And slowly, the brilliant white coffin was ushered out of the back of the hearse, carried carefully by the pallbearers to the center of the decorated table. The coffin was secured and the few flowers that had been knocked askew were put back in their proper place. The air was completely still now. It was the calmest day Yuna could remember; she would swear that if snow were to gently fall to the ground, she would hear it.

All across Spira, the world watched. At Cid's behest, SINN and all the other major news networks around the world were present, but only as a lens. There was no commentary, no famous anchors like Leblanc (she was sitting a few rows behind Yuna with her own handkerchief) in front of the camera. Even in Bevelle, a city still rapt in riots, people turned their attention to the City of the Far North.

_ "I don't really know what I can tell you that will make this any easier . . ."_

Cid was at the podium. Heavens, had she really been so preoccupied that she hadn't even noticed him going up to address the city? She shook her head, trying to physically throw the thoughts from her mind. Her eyes again cast their gaze over the throng of her fellow citizens. Now, she could hear sniffling.

Dammit, them too?

_ ". . . I knew Braska's commitment to serving as the great Mayor of this . . . f-fine city . . . excuse me . . ."_

Was there not a single person here who was happy to celebrate his life instead of sad to mourn his death? It was getting on her nerves. Why were they so sad anyway? All they had lost was comfort, a politician who simply made them feel safe. There was no personal connection for them. So why were they so sad? Suddenly, though, the irritation was gone. How could she expect others to be happy for her father's life when she herself wasn't feeling that way?

_ ". . . to me, he was also . . . also a friend a-and a-a-a mentor . . ."_

'It's okay, Yuna. It's okay. It will all be over soon.'

_ ". . . and now . . . now . . . we must press on. We must see . . . see his vision through_. _He will live on through his legacy . . ." _

The entire Diplomatic Alliance of Spiran Cities was seated right behind her. She felt a hand on her shoulder, looking behind her. She saw Rin, the mayor of Home, looking at her with a sad, yet very warm expression on his face. It helped, ever so slightly. She turned up a corner of her mouth and clasped his hand, and he squeezed back. She saw Shelinda dabbing at her face with a tissue to his right. At the same time, Rin withdrew his hand and focused his attention back on his new colleague, Cid.

_ ". . . as your mayor, and his . . . f-friend . . . I will see to it that . . . Zanarkand becomes the great City that Never Sleeps once again. Thank you."_

Suddenly, Yuna went numb. He was finished, which meant it was her turn at the podium. Cid sat back down, completely expressionless, eyes wet. Yuna put a hand on his back and slowly moved it back and forth to comfort him. It helped a little, and he pulled her into a sloppy one-arm hug. She saw tears cloud her vision, which was perhaps a good thing. It obscured the faces of all of the mourning people. She was afraid that, if she looked at even one person who was crying, that it would set her off as well and she wouldn't be able to finish.

On shaking legs, she slowly rose. Praying thanks to Yevon for preventing her from buckling under the weight of the nerves and grief she felt, she took her first tentative steps toward the podium. It seemed to take forever, as if the podium would drift backward every time she took a step toward it. After what seemed like hours, she was standing at the podium that would carry her voice to every corner in Spira. In front of what seemed to her to be the entire city of Zanarkand.

In front of her father.

She felt faint, her vision blurred not from tears, but from dizziness. She looked down, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as tightly as she possibly could. After several more similar deep breaths, she opened her eyes again, wishing this entire scene away. Wishing it a dream, an alternate universe in which all she saw were her worst nightmares. At least she could wake up from those. No such luck this time.

"Yunie. You can do it."

The voice was faint, almost a whisper. She looked up. Rikku was standing next to her at the podium.

"Go on. Tell them about Uncle Braska."

And she would.

Nodding, she folded up her speech and handed it to Rikku, who accepted it with a slightly confused expression.

Yuna exhaled deeply, saying her first sentence with her eyes closed. "Father was a communicator," she began, her voice cracking already. Cursing herself inwardly, she cleared her throat and continued. "I had prepared a speech for you today, but . . . I don't think it's appropriate. I know he . . . was truly comfortable when he spoke from the heart. So that's what I want to do with you today." She paused to quell the surge of emotion she felt forming into a lump in her throat. "It's kind of difficult for me to have faith right now," she began slowly, folding her hands together and resting them on the podium. "Part of my family, a part of my life that I hold dearest, is gone." Now she was going. She couldn't stop. "Even now, surrounded by friends and family and all of you who were kind enough to come out here . . . I just I feel so alone. Perhaps . . . some of you understand."

Rikku was still standing next to her, gaze fixed on the crowd. She could faintly hear sniffling, noses being blown, and even crying. Either Yuna couldn't hear it, or she was managing to ignore it somehow. She looked at Yuna, who was staring at her hands, as though contemplating what to say next. Suddenly, both were momentarily distracted by a new guest: snow. The white flakes had begun to fall gently from the sky. Snow was, by now, a slightly irritating sight for most in the city. However, for both Yuna and Rikku, it was strangely comforting.

Yuna looked up again. "I have nothing profound to say," she continued. "I apologize. I wish I did. But . . ." she paused, finally looking at the crowd of faces staring back at her, listening intently to her very word. "I do know something. We've all been through so much. It's hard to go through it thinking that we're alone. I know I said that I felt alone. But . . . we're not." She nodded, turning to her cousin and smiling as a single tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, turning back to the crowd. "We're not alone. We have each other. I'm getting through it . . . and so I will. I'm here to mourn with you. I'm here to repent . . . and to listen."

She took two steps back from the podium, bowed slightly to the crowd, and took her seat. Rikku followed her, sitting down in her own chair. There was silence for quite a few seconds. Nobody else came forward to speak. A flash of confusion crossed Yuna's mind, but it was soon gone after there **was** noise. It was clapping, clapping coming directly behind her. She looked behind her, and her eyes beheld something she never thought she'd ever see in her lifetime.

Slowly, the DASC representative from Home rose from his spot, clapping slowly, deliberately, loudly. Soon, more clapping could be heard nearby. Tromell had joined in. For a little while, it was just the two of them, Rin and Tromell, enemies in state, staring fiercely at Yuna with an expression of pride that she would never be able to describe. It was in their eyes, in the way they looked at her. They never looked at each other. They never had to. They knew that, despite the horrible circumstances that led them to this one moment, honoring Yuna's father this way was somehow appropriate.

And then, the entire DASC was on its feet, clapping: Barthello, Nooj, Tromell, Jyscal, Rin, Shelinda, and Baralai. The clapping soon spread to the rest of the bleachers, and Yuna could see another few faces she recognized: Lulu, Belgemine, Wakka and Auron, sitting next to each other, clapping. She, Rikku, Cid and Maechen were still looking at them with their mouths slightly agape. They weren't quite sure how to react yet.

But before she knew it, the tearful crowd had joined in as well. Applause spread like wildfire throughout the Lawn. Soon, there wasn't a soul in the streets that wasn't clapping.

The roar was deafening. The ovation, they would say, was heard around the world.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

"Hello?"

"Hey Yunie, it's me!"

"Oh, Riks! How are you?"

"I'm pretty good. Just kickin' it with Wakka."

"How are things?"

". . . Really great."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah! I just called 'cause wanted to tell you something, is all. I was just wondering how much to say."

"Hmm?"

"Well . . ."

"Did something happen?"

"No, no! Nothing bad! Wakka and me, we just . . . we slept together last night."

"Really?"

"It was . . . not at all like I thought it would be."

"Were you able to make it all the way through the night?"

"For the most part, yeah."

"That's a really big step, Rikku!"

"Thanks, Yunie. He's out at the store right now. I offered to go with him and he said no, 'cause really wanted me to just stay here and rest. I think he wanted some time to himself to think about stuff."

"He's sweet to you, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I don't see him as much as I want to, but he's the Chief of Police now. So he's gone a lot."

"Is he still going with you to your sessions?"

"Yep. He always makes time for those. We finished our last scheduled one today."

"You're finished? Oh, Riks, that's great! So–"

"Well . . . kinda, but I asked if I could see her for another two weeks."

"What? Why? You're okay, right?"

"Don't worry, Yunie, I'm fine. It's just that we've been talking about Paine for a while, and I don't think I've finished yet."

"What's on your mind?"

"Well . . . it's just that I wanna know why she was so protective of me. I've been thinking about it a lot, and . . . well, I never really could understand why she kept saving my life. She didn't give a hoot about anyone else."

"Riks, if I can ask, why do you care? You just said it yourself. She killed a lot of people when you were with her. I remember you telling me during that interview with Leblanc, remember? What about that nice man who stopped to help you when you wrecked her car? Not only that, she tried to have you kill Seymour! That was horrible!"

"So why did she stop Tony? Why did she protect me in the SIA?"

". . ."

"Yeah. That's what I don't know either. And before I'm done with this whole counseling thing, I might as well try and figure it out, ya know?"

"Rikku, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Is a part of you . . . sad that she died?"

". . ."

"Riks?"

"I don't really know. That's one of the things I still need to figure out. I mean, she was a horrible person, but . . . gee Yunie, it's hard to explain! I mean, like I said, she saved me from Tony."

"Yeah, you're right."

"I guess I wish she had just disappeared instead. Does that sound weird? It's not so much that I wanted her to die . . . I just didn't want to see her ever again."

"I see."

"That's why I wanted to go see the counselor a couple more times. I don't really know how to feel about this, you know?"

"Yeah."

". . . Yeah."

"So, overall, are you doing well?"

"Well . . . yeah, Yunie. I almost feel like I'm back to normal. But I'm still not going anywhere alone, especially at night. I'll get there, Yunie. But hey, you're coming up for a few weeks this winter, right?"

"I'd love to, but it really depends on the weather. I don't want to be stuck there for two months because the airport's snowed in."

"Ha-ha, yeah, I know, right? That was insane last year!"

"It was. Wait, aren't you coming to Luca to see me?"

"Yeah, in a week or so! Pops is flying me out."

"How is he doing?"

"Good, for the most part. The stress is getting to him a little more as each day goes by . . . but he's still sober."

"Oh Rikku, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah. I hope he can hang on, but . . . I dunno. I mean, I totally support him and stuff, but . . . I know him too well, ya know? If he goes back, it wouldn't surprise me. I don't think his finding out about what happened to me helped any."

"I know that really got to him. When did you tell him?"

"A long time ago, actually. Right before the interview we did together."

"And I found out during the interview . . . wow. That **was** a long time ago. But, now . . ."

"Now? Well, he's slowly getting used to being Mayor. He still misses Uncle Braska really bad, but he's not moping around anymore. I think that working helps him a lot. There's, like, no time to be sad, you know?"

"I know. I miss them both, Riks."

"Yeah. Me too. But I'm spending a lot of time with him too. We've gotten closer too. We talk a lot more."

"I bet he's happy about that."

"We both are. It's really neat."

"Gosh, I can't wait to see you. Oh! Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!"

"What?"

"I did it. I got it!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, Yunie, that's so cooooool! I can't wait to see it!"

"Well, it's not that pretty right now. My body's rejecting the ink a bit."

"I bet it looks really neat though."

"It does. They did a good job. But it's so sore. Thank Yevon the weather's nice enough I can wear a skirt."

"But it's totally worth it, right?"

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"Awesome. Oop, Wakka's back. I gotta help him put stuff away. Talk to you later Yunie!"

"Oh, ha-ha, all right. Say hello for me, won't you?"

"Sure thing. Bye bye!"

"See you later, Riks."

_That was neat! Rikku just called me! I was just thinking about her too! I love it when things like that happen. I haven't talked to her in awhile. She sounds like she's doing a lot better. It's neat to hear her sound more and more like her old self, before the Stadium and the SIA. I never would have thought that she could end up with a man like Wakka. It's really quite cute. She'd kill me if she found out that's how I thought about it, but what can I say? I'm such a girl. In fact, I didn't even know they were serious until a few months ago. I had assumed it was just a really close friendship, but I guess, even then, I was so wrapped up in moving on from my own catastrophes that I really didn't give it much thought. _

_ But Yevon, I can't even comprehend everything she went through! If I had half the bravery and resolve that she did, I'd be much better for it. First, Seymour almost kills her at that meeting. Then she's trapped with me in the Stadium. Then she gets raped. Then she's that Paine woman's captive. Then she has to climb the SIA, not knowing whether or not her father is alive. All in three weeks! I wouldn't be the same person if all that happened to me, and in some ways, I don't think she'll ever be the same either. Not that I blame her. _

_ I remember thinking back to when she, Tidus and I were all in Wakka's apartment and she was telling us about her time with Paine. I'm surprised now that I didn't fit two and two together. I guess I just couldn't believe it. It was right in front of me, but I just couldn't. I mean, Yevon! Why else would her jeans have been torn like that? And how else could she have gotten mixed up with somebody like Paine? I don't know . . . she's far stronger than I could ever hope to be. She doesn't have to try, either. And this in the face of everything beginning to deteriorate again. Even the sense of unity following Father's death has begun to wane. Spira is sort of settling back into its ways before Zanarkand was attacked. Rikku remains the one person who, I think, has permanently changed for the better. Defying all the odds. I guess her personality is just that way._

_ I can't wait for her to come and see me. Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that! I'm living in Luca now, not Zanarkand. For a while, anyway. I know I'll return eventually, but in the meantime, I just had to get away. I have to understand and get used to the memories, and that seems easier to me if I can keep them at some sort of physical distance. Luca seemed like the best choice. I had only been here a few times before, and I loved every minute of each visit. Soon after Tidus's burial, I called Shelinda and asked if she might be able to get me pointed in the right direction as far as living here. Not only did she do that, she took care of everything else as well, and got me a two-story house right here on the beach! I tried to refuse, but she wouldn't hear of it. So now I'm stuck with two floors of space I don't know what to do with!_

_ Rikku, Cid and Maechen were sad to see me go, but they understood. Maechen promised me he would keep my room nice and spotless, and that it would be waiting for me when I returned (that is, if I came back while Cid was still in office). Rikku promised to come and see me as often as she could, and she has. Even though I'm half a world away, I see her often. It's really wonderful. I talk to Cid regularly as well, but I've only seen him once since I left. In fact, Rikku's really the only one I've seen a lot. _

_ A few months ago, I got a call from Leblanc too. She was producing a news special about everything that had happened in Zanarkand as far as the attacks were concerned. The special was centered entirely around interviews. She had already gotten interviews from Belgemine, Lulu and Wakka, but she wanted to devote most of the special to the personal side of what happened. She had called Rikku as well and asked that we come to the studio and have an on-air, impromptu chat about everything that had happened._

_ I was a little hesitant to accept her offer. I was only just getting my feet underneath me in Luca. I had a new job, and I was writing a new chapter in my life. I wasn't sure if I was ready to return to Zanarkand that soon. But then I remembered how long it had been since I'd seen everybody back in Zanarkand. They would call occasionally too, even Auron and Lulu. I missed them all too. Even if the interview was a no-go, I could spend time with them. That made the choice relatively easy. Besides . . . there was one other thing I wanted to do when I was there._

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, SINN HQ.  
16:51.  
Thursday, April 17. _

"We're back in sixty seconds!"

Leblanc nodded. "Thanks!" she called, turning to Yuna and Rikku. "You're doing great, loves," she said. "This is exactly what I'm looking for."

The door to their studio room suddenly opened, and Maechen poked his head in. "Lady Yuna?"

She looked up. "Yes?"

"There were a couple of phone calls for you while you were on the air," he replied. "Lulu called to wish you well, and so did Auron. Auron wants to meet up with you later."

"Oh no," Yuna said, her face turning grim. "I can't. I have to run a personal errand, and then I'm off to the airport. My flight leaves at nine-thirty."

"All right, I'll call him back and tell him," he replied, ducking out of the room.

Leblanc had been watching the two, silent the entire time, but took this opportunity to cut in. "We're almost done here, so you should be back to the airport with plenty of time to spare."

"It's okay. I'm not too worried," Yuna said.

Leblanc's producer shouted again. "We're back in five! Four! Three!" The camera lights burned bright once again as the man held up two fingers, then one, and then pointed at Leblanc.

Viewers watching across the world saw the well-decorated room that they were broadcasting from return to view. The room looked sort of like a library office. Bookshelves lined the walls of the room around them. Leblanc, wearing a red skirt and black heels, was sitting on a crimson couch that was at a right angle to the one Rikku and Yuna occupied. Tall plants framed each couch nicely, and candles were arranged on every tabletop around them. The setting was lit almost entirely by the candlelight. In between them, a small table with three steaming mugs of tea completed the arrangement. There was only one window, but it offered a wonderful view of a city that was in the middle of thawing out from one of the worst winters in history. The sun was still rather high in the sky.

"Welcome back, Loves. I'm here now with Yuna and Rikku, two daughters of a historical mayoral administration here in Zanarkand. For the last hour, we've been asking about their opinions and perspective regarding all that has happened between the Stadium Attack all those months ago, and now, when things seem like they're finally beginning to settle down. I believe we left off with you, Yuna. It's been a while since you've been here, so you've told us. What do you notice that's different?"

"Well, for one . . ." Yuna started. "It's sunny." The three of them shared a healthy chuckle. "But, I suppose . . . well, I just flew in today, so I don't know what kind of answer I can give you. I know that they finished repairing the SIA a while back. Belgemine's in charge now."

"What do you think of that?" Leblanc asked.

"I know and trust her. She'll do a wonderful job."

"Pops knows her too," Rikku added. "He agrees. The two of them are really working well together."

"You do know that the DASC recently declared that she, Lulu and Cid were in no way involved with the terrorist attacks on the Stadium and the SIA," Leblanc said. "Were either of you expecting the DASC to find something different?"

Both Rikku and Yuna shook their heads. "We've both gotten an opportunity to know Lulu and Belgemine, both as professionals and as people," Yuna said. "Their integrity is much too high to be compromised by the demands of a man like Seymour."

"And who is this new Deputy Director that Belgemine appointed?" Leblanc said. "I've never heard of him."

"Oh, Auron?" Rikku asked. "We really don't know that much about him either."

"So, I have to ask, then, how wise it was for Belgemine to appoint a totally unknown SIA agent to the number two position for the entire agency. I asked my sources here at SINN to try and find anything on this guy, but he was so deep undercover for the agency that nobody knows anything about what he did. Can we possibly trust a man with a top-secret past like this?"

"Well, we kinda have to now," Rikku said. "Yuna knows him too. She's said good things about him, so that's good enough for me, anyway."

"Leblanc, people have to understand that now isn't a good time to start becoming suspicious of everybody," Yuna said. "It's true, I do know Auron. I knew him before he became Deputy Director. He's brilliant and principled. So let's give him a chance."

Leblanc nodded. "Fair enough," she said.

"Oh, I also heard that they finished rebuilding the Stadium today," Rikku chipped in, providing a smooth change of subject. "I know the Goers were here for the ceremony."

"They were indeed," Leblanc replied. "Do you remember the day their team captain went on the air and publicly announced that they were dedicating their game to the Abes?"

"Yes. I started crying again," Yuna said, laughing. "I'd been doing a lot of that at the time. And when the captain said that they were doing it to honor Tidus and the fortitude of Zanarkand and its team, I had to turn it off." She smiled to herself, remembering. Her face turned grim. Rikku reached over and patted her leg. Then, Yuna's face brightened a bit. "Then, the Goers won. I really didn't know how to feel about that." She laughed a little, and the other two women smiled.

"I'm glad you brought that up," Leblanc said, gently pressing the interview forward. "Yuna, there have been rumors floating around that you were involved with that poor Tidus boy who was killed on the same night as your father, the one who had been playing his first season with the Abes. Would you care to shed some light on that?"

Leblanc, of course, already knew the answer to that question. Yuna looked at her, startled all the same. Of all the things she had expected Leblanc to bring up, it wasn't this.

"Well, um . . ." she trailed off. "I knew him, but not for very long. We had . . .well, all right. Yes, we were seeing each other."

Leblanc bounced on her couch delightedly. "Oh, how wonderful!"

"It was," Yuna said, slightly pointedly.

The anchorwoman took the hint. "Sorry, love," she said. "I suppose I was just intrigued. I covered him a while back, just after he'd been drafted to the Abes. He was still in high school, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Yuna replied. "He was in his last year."

"I remember my friend Dona interviewing him," Leblanc continued. "She told me that he really was quite something. A real charmer. And cocky too."

Yuna smiled, nodding. "He was certainly both of those," she said. "Like I said earlier, I didn't really know him all that well. We only started seeing each other after the Stadium Attack. We were both trapped inside after the missiles hit. Rikku too." She looked at her cousin, who nodded.

"Did you want to talk about that at all?" Leblanc asked.

"It's funny," Rikku said. "Compared to some of the other things that happened to us, that really wasn't all that scary."

"No, you're right," Yuna agreed.

"I mean, yeah, it was terrifying, but it wasn't a total loss," Rikku continued. "It would be too depressing to look at any other way."

"You know, that whole 'Out of anything bad comes some good' sort of thing," Yuna added.

"Absolutely. I mean, all three of us were in the Spiran Intelligence Agency when it was bombed. We all saw what happened. It was truly a horrible ordeal. And there were several other people there with us. Wakka, the newly-appointed Police Chief . . . Lulu, the new Deputy Mayor of this fine city . . . wait a minute, wasn't Tidus there as well?" Leblanc asked. "In the SIA. Come to think of it, I never stopped wondering why he was there, along with you two. Can you tell me, or not?"

Yuna looked questioningly at Rikku. Explaining why Tidus had been there would be entering a gray area of truthiness. There was no way they could tell the entire truth. Leblanc had made that clear: the three of them could reveal nothing about Kinoc's involvement in the terrorist attacks. As far as they knew, Seymour was posthumously responsible for the whole affair. Yuna was just about to turn back to Leblanc and say that they would rather not tell, but Rikku beat her to the punch.

"They were looking for me, actually," she said. "The media didn't report it for a while because of everything that was happening at the time with Seymour's assassination, but I had been missing for a few days."

"Really?" Leblanc asked, genuinely interested. She hadn't heard this part of the story before. Yuna also turned to her cousin, her eyebrows raised. What was she going to say?

"I got into a little trouble . . ." Rikku continued slowly, trying to phrase her words in the manner she preferred. "I'm not going to tell you on the air. I don't want people nosing into my private life that much, you know?"

"Rikku?" Yuna was looking at her questioningly. "Do I know anything about what you're talking about?"

Her cousin shook her head. "I'm not talking about it on TV," she said firmly. "Uh-uh."

". . . Okay." Leblanc looked at her lap, slightly awkwardly, before turning her gaze back to her two guests, her expression unusually somber. "I have one last question, Yuna. You just said that 'out of anything bad, we can find something good', or something of that measure. Do you firmly believe that?"

"Absolutely," Yuna replied, nodding.

"Okay," Leblanc said. "I'm not trying to catch you in a 'gotcha' moment or make you feel uncomfortable, but it begs a question. Many of us are still trying to come to terms with your father's death, even though it is more than fair to say that we weren't as close with him as you two." Yuna tensed. She didn't like where this was going. "It's been tough for so many of us, especially in Zanarkand, to accept what has happened and move on. So . . . Yuna. Do **you** see anything good coming out of what happened to Braska?"

The question stunned Yuna enough to cause her mind to go totally blank. It was a very tough question, and she understood the reasoning behind it. She had only thought about her father's death as though from a distance since leaving Zanarkand, but since returning today, the memories came back. They weren't nearly as bad as they were at the end of December, but she still felt the pain behind them. She still could not forgive herself for her last words to her father, and that was something she was slowly realizing that she would never be able to forgive herself for. Perhaps it was that memory, more than the others, that caused her to leave. Running away? She wondered about that too for quite some time. But she knew, somehow, that she would not be gone forever. She would eventually return to Zanarkand.

"Leblanc, I . . ." Yuna said. "I'm not really sure how to answer that question."

"Try, love," the anchorwoman said gently. "What you say might help people."

She thought back to those horribly dark, whirlwind days. It seemed like a horrible alternate universe. Finding something positive out of any of that death, destruction, grief, confusion, chaos, and uncertainty was like searching for a needle in a house-sized haystack.

"Honestly, Leblanc, I hadn't really thought about looking for anything good from it," Yuna said. "I guess it was the only thing I knew for certain. 'My father and my boyfriend are dead. I should be sad, and only sad. Not optimistic.' But, I suppose . . ." she trailed off. "Wow, this is really difficult . . ."

Leblanc withdrew a small pouch of tissues from inside her jacket and passed them to Yuna, who had begun to tear up. Rikku scooted closer to her cousin and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Yuna smiled, dabbing at her eyes before clearing her throat, sniffing discreetly, and putting the tissue down.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's difficult to do . . ."

"I know, love, I know," Leblanc said, nodding sympathetically. She slackened her insistence. "If you don't want to answer the question, you don't have to."

"No, I should," Yuna replied, shaking her head. "It would help me too. Uh . . . well, I suppose that our friendship is one thing." She gestured to Leblanc and Rikku. "If we hadn't been in the SIA together, I wouldn't be talking to you now."

She paused, thinking. Leblanc noticed her producer signaling that they were about out of time, but she waved him off, inviting Yuna to continue.

"In terms of the city . . . I remember flashes of reality," Yuna continued. "Reality, as in what was going on around me. It wasn't **my** reality. **My** reality was far different, and one I wouldn't wish upon anybody else. But people were saying that they were worried that, if just the SIA had been attacked, there would have been mass panic. I suppose . . . well, 'distracted' is such a horrible word to use in this sense. Rikku, help me, please. Do you know what I'm getting at?"

"Yeah, I think so," Rikku replied. "'Refocused?'"

"Something like that," Yuna nodded. "Thanks, Riks. I guess what I'm saying is that . . . that Father's death was what people focused on more, rather than the fear of having the SIA attacked just three weeks after the Stadium. People were too sad to be angry. And besides that, at the funeral . . . remember when Rin and Tromell stood up to clap for him?"

"Oh Yevon, yes," Leblanc said. "I cried my eyes out after that."

"I think a lot of people did," Yuna said. "If there is one, just one, solitary thing that I think is better because of all that's happened, it's that Spira is a little more peaceful now. For the first time, Bevelle is getting along with Luca and Zanarkand, and Tromell's actually going to sit down to start a dialogue with Rin. I know there are still many problems between them, and who knows? It might not last, even though I hope it does. And honestly . . . if Father were still alive, I don't see any of that happening. I really wish . . . I wish he didn't have to die in order for it to happen. But I knew that he would gladly give his own life to see Bevelle and Home sit down and at least attempt to work out even a few of their differences. He just . . . cared that much."

"It's rare," Rikku said, rescuing her cousin so that she could dab at her eyes again. "He brought Pops and me from Home about ten years ago. He more or less told us what Yuna told you and your viewers right now. That was enough for Pops. Braska was his closest friend, and they worked great together. Pops is passionate, but he has a wild temper. Uncle Braska was very level-headed. But they both shared the same hopes for Zanarkand and Spira. Yunie's right. Uncle Braska would be so happy if he could see where we are now."

Leblanc was silent as they talked, listening intently. Even her producer had stopped worrying about cutting into the next block of air time.

"It's a very healthy way of looking at it," Leblanc said quietly. "We are all indebted to the sacrifices your family has made, Rikku and Yuna. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me, and especially you, love." She fixed her gaze on Yuna. "I know you have a long flight."

"My pleasure," Yuna said, leaning across the table to hug Leblanc.

"Yeah, it was fun!" Rikku agreed, embracing the anchorwoman when Yuna let go.

Leblanc turned to the camera. "We'll be back tomorrow. Remember, these interviews will be included I'm producing about the Zanarkand Terror Attacks of November twenty-fourth and December tenth. Look for it in about four months, on the eighteenth of August. Thanks for tuning into this special SINN broadcast. Goodnight, loves."

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

__  
Zanarkand, Zaon Point Cemetery.  
17:39.  
Thursday, April 17. _

Her car crept to a halt, having finally arrived at her destination. She parked the rental car and got out, clutching a small package in her hand that had been sent to her from Lulu. A subsequent phone call to the Deputy Mayor told her what was in the bubble-wrapped manila envelope. Yuna had a hunch that her first thought on the contents was right, and the call confirmed it. To her slight surprise, she knew exactly what she wanted to do with it.

She had to mind her steps on the compacted snow that had turned into a solid sheet of ice, now that the temperatures were consistently above freezing. There was still about a foot of old snow on the ground, freezing to the touch. Thankfully, her walk to Tidus's gravestone was short. A blitzball had been carved above his name, age and date of birth and death. The headstone was solid marble, and resembled a pointy tower. The details were carved into one side of the headstone, and an assortment of long-dead flowers formed a base around the top of the headstone.

She tore open the package and fished around inside for its contents, producing a small black cassette tape. Bending over slightly, she placed the tape gently against the headstone at the same time one of her tears splashed against the marble. She stood there, motionless, for more than five minutes. Only her eyelids moved, to blink saltiness out of her blurred vision. Finally, she kissed her fingers, and touched them to his name on the headstone.

The truth could die with them.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She walked away, one of her steps causing the tape to slide a little until it came to rest again, nestled against the dead flowers.

**~~~~~ ZFC 3.4 ~~~~~**

_I don't really know what compelled me to leave the tape at Tidus's grave. I know he'd mentioned a couple times how much he hated Kinoc and anything else that had anything to do with the SIA. I thought about putting it with Father's tombstone, but I couldn't bring myself to visit it yet (I will when I go back again. I'm making myself). At the same time, I knew I couldn't keep the tape. So, if I could bury those unpleasant memories with ones that make me happy, then the happy memories will triumph over the bad ones. Something like that. Even now, I'm slightly unclear why I was so sure that's what I wanted to do. Strangely, this time, I think I was right._

_ I think about where I am now . . . I think about what I've lost, what's changed in my life, where I'm at, and what I hope to achieve in the future. What happened in Zanarkand brought me to the other side of the world. Before, I would have been terrified to make such a risky, impulsive decision like this. I mean, I moved to a place with no friends, family, or foundation, and expected to make it on my own! I was pretty isolated and sheltered in the days before the Attacks. However, in the days afterward, packing up and leaving seemed minuscule compared to everything else. I think Tidus helped me with that._

_ I'm very happy I made the move though. It's gorgeous here. The weather's always warm and it's always pleasant. It's the middle of the rainy season, but it doesn't seem to dampen people's spirits any. People here are so friendly, even the few of those who don't know who I am. They always say hello to me when they see me outside my house or when I'm on the street. A few have even sent me gifts, just letting me know that they're thinking of me. I don't know who any of them are, but they're all so wonderful. Even now, after this much time has passed, they still remember._

_ I don't forget either. As long as the memories are still this fresh in my mind, I know I can't return there yet. As I said, I know I'll go back eventually but for now . . . no. My home is in Luca. However, I do plan to visit soon. And I know what I want to do while I'm there too! I want to walk Yevon Avenue, go clubbing with Rikku, talk politics with Cid, and sit and chitchat with Maechen. The nostalgia makes me a bit homesick despite myself, ha-ha. Maechen still says my room is waiting for me when I return, and I certainly believe it. If I know him, that room doesn't have a speck of dust anywhere in it!_

_ Except this time, when I go back, I'm going to do things differently. This time, I'm going to drag Rikku along so we can catch a blitz game or two. _

"Er-hem."

__  
Luca, the Boardwalk.  
20:02.  
Monday, August 18. _

Yuna looked up, and beamed when she saw a man standing on the opposite side of her small table. He wore a red trench coat, and his salt-and-pepper hair shone slightly in the brilliant tropical sun. His trademark sunglasses were snug on the bridge of his nose. He looked much older. New wrinkles had appeared on his face. She imagined that the eye behind the lens of his sunglasses was tired.

"Auron!" Yuna exclaimed happily, quickly getting up from the table. "It's so good to see you!"

The older man smiled. "You too," he said. "You look much better than the last time I saw you."

"I feel better," Yuna replied. "A new home was just what I needed."

"I know what that's like," Auron agreed. "Some years ago, I was a globe-hopper. Never in one place for long." He studied her. "Will you return soon?" he asked, referring to Zanarkand.

Yuna shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "I need more time. But don't worry: I'll be back for good someday." Suddenly, she remembered something she wanted to tell him. She was going to get a kick out of this. "Can I show you something?"

Auron nodded. "Sure."

She got up from the table and walked over to him, and lifted up the edge of her skirt so that Auron and anybody else walking by caught a full view of her entire right leg. His eyebrows rose when he saw what she was doing, and they arched even further when he saw a tattoo of the Zanarkand Abes Blitzball Team symbol, identical to the one on the necklace that Auron had given her all those months ago. It spanned the entire length of her thigh and the upper edges of the crest even wrapped around her leg slightly so that it looked like some kind of sheath.

Auron didn't like tattoos at all, but he tried his hardest to hide that fact. "Can I ask what prompted such a decision?" he asked evenly.

Yuna dropped her skirt and moved opposite Auron, sitting down again. "Well, it was Rikku's idea. I really wanted to wear that necklace that Tidus gave me, but I'm so afraid of losing it. So when Rikku suggested a tattoo, I thought, 'why not'. This was as good a compromise as any. It doesn't show in public, but it helps me remember him. And it reminds me of Zanarkand."

Auron grunted. "Hmm," he said. Then, he lit up a little and chuckled. "I know Tidus would appreciate it," he said, his lips turning up into a smile.

Yuna blushed a little. "Thank you," she said.

"Before I forget: your interview is being released tomorrow in the second part of Leblanc's documentary," Auron said, changing the subject. "It's on SINN at six p.m. local time. She called it Zanarkand, Full Circle. The first segment's actually on right now."

Yuna nodded, smiling. "Okay, I'll be sure to catch it," she said.

In an ironic case of timing, the TV sitting outside the store closest to her suddenly got turned up, apparently airing part of Leblanc's documentary. The anchorwoman was interviewing Lulu, Zanarkand's youngest Deputy Mayor in its history.

_ "So ultimately, who was responsible for the attack on the SIA?"_

_ "Ultimately? The same man responsible for the Stadium Attack, the former mayor of Bevelle, Seymour Guado. The forces loyal to him apparently received an independent mission order that was to be delivered in the event of his death. He was head of a rebel faction of extremist Yevonites, a group dedicated to a more traditional, regressed rule under the Holy Word of Yevon, rather than machina and laws. Their attacks were geared toward their final cause, which was to end Al Bhed dominance in Spira, as well as their sympathizers. I suppose Seymour didn't feel the need to waste any time killing his way up the chain. I'd imagine he thought it best to go after Kinoc and Braska as early as possible, while the world was still off-guard. The Stadium Attack was just a . . ." _

The TV was turned down again.

Yuna focused her attention away from the TV and turned to Auron, who was studying her. "Seymour wasn't just Kinoc's scapegoat," he proclaimed, a bitter smile on his face. "He served the agency well in death too. The SIA is lucky. It's a good thing the Spiran people are so willing to believe what they're told."

Yuna scrutinized the man. "You honestly don't believe that."

He grunted, but had to fight back a smirk. "I suppose I have to," was all he said.

"I . . . see," Yuna replied hesitantly, before deciding to let the matter rest. "So, knowing what you know now . . . do you think we'll be okay? In the long run?"

Auron sighed heavily. "The best answer is that it's hard to say," he said. "However . . ." He trailed off, watching shoppers pass by on the boardwalk. "Peace lasts only as long as the people feel safe," he said after a moment. "And that's never been forever." Yuna's face fell slightly. "But it's also true that with new people in power, people willing to learn from the mistakes of history, that there's a better chance it will last a little longer. There's a small measure of comfort in that, isn't there?"

Yuna thought about it for a moment before beginning to nod her head slowly. "There is," she agreed, smiling softly.

Auron nodded, as if approving of that answer. He twisted in his chair slightly to observe the people on the beach for a moment before he turned back to Yuna. "How are you doing?"

Yuna laughed lightly. "It's amazing, really," she said. "I think I'm just beginning to feel like a completely different person. Like I said, the time away was just what I needed. I found this journal yesterday too," she paused to hold up the journal, "and I actually began to write in it today."

Auron nodded as she spoke. He grunted again. "Excellent," he said.

"And how are you?" Yuna looked at him, concern briefly flashing across her face as she further studied his tired features.

The man was silent for a very long while. There was no doubt in Yuna's mind that they were both thinking about Tidus. "It's been a long time since anybody asked me that," he said slowly. Yuna looked sadly at him. But then he chuckled, looking up at her. "I'm doing well." Even with the sunglasses on, she could tell he was being as sincere as he'd ever been. "Excuse me a moment." He got up from the table and quickly strode away.

Yuna followed his gaze. "I'm glad," she said quietly.

She watched him as he walked down the beachfront boardwalk, alone with her thoughts and the sound of the ocean waves crashing onshore once again. She smiled, watching as a group of young boys played tag in the surf. Birds called to each other overhead, a few occasionally swooping down to invade one of several evening picnics on the beach. Couples strolled by, holding hands. Occasionally she would see people running along the beach, weaving in between the children playing their games and the picnickers settling down for a relaxing evening meal.

Smiling, she turned back to her journal.

_I think I'm finished writing for now. My good friend Auron has shown up, and I'm going to have dinner with him before he flies back tonight. _

_So it seems like things are back to the way they used to be. Well . . . not completely, but that makes sense, I suppose. And it's alright. I'm determined to enjoy life for what it has to offer, wherever it takes me. For the most part though, Zanarkand really has come Full Circle. _

_Eventually, so will I._

_

* * *

_

And so it ends.

I know that Yuna went from sad to happy in the span of just this chapter, and that can seem a bit awkward, but again, I didn't really know how else to tell it. I think it would have been anticlimactic to drag out _everything_ important that would happen in that eight-month span.

Now, if you're interested, I'm going to ramble a bit about my thoughts on certain aspects of the story, and what I was trying to do with it. You're welcome to ignore this and leave, or skip to the closing comments at the bottom.

* * *

I'll keep it short.

For the most part, I accomplished what I wanted to with this. It's funny - I remember how when I first started this, it was just a wild hair. I never imagined it would develop into what it did or that I would be so interested in seeing it through to a finish. Trust me, that rarely happens with me. I think it's neat to go back to the first chapter, reading it over and realizing that I wrote it 3 1/2 years ago, when I just turned 16. Now that I'm almost 20, it's finally finished. It's rather humbling, I must say.

The American movie Crash also deserves special mention. The movie served as a huge inspiration for my style of storytelling. As you may have noticed, Zanarkand, Full Circle was rather convoluted and jumped around a lot. As a result, this story wasn't really a single story until the very end, when the climax required that the characters all had to interact with one another. Prior to that, it was really several separate stories in the same universe, each inadvertently affecting the rest in subtle ways. And all the while, it begged the question sometimes: "what does he/she have to do with all that is going on?"

Events happen, and the characters had to prepare, assess and react accordingly. I wanted it to be a character study in addition to a thriller. I wanted you to love some characters, hate others, and constantly wonder about the rest. I wanted this story to be as much about people as I did about thrills. Interactions, chance meetings and occurrences . . . these events, however insignificant at the time, may mean _everything_ in the future. Some of the characters knew that, most didn't. How would they interact when they ran across each other? What were they like alone? With people they knew? Could they become somebody else, or just be themselves? Would they lie or tell the truth? Avoid confrontation or address it? This and a medley of many other questions were the basis for this story.

In addition, I wanted this story to be about current events as well as fiction. The terrorism theme was pretty obvious. As were the ethics of torture. As were the roots of organized religion. As was the idea of pure evil and pure good. I **wanted** to make you uncomfortable, to question what you believe, to agree or disagree with what you're reading, and what a character says or does. An anonymous reviewer some months ago noticed some inspiration from the American invasion of Iraq, and this completely turned them off of the story. Even if he/she didn't agree with the tone or theme of the story, it was noticed at least, and appreciated for that alone.

There are some flaws to the story that I'm not happy with, most notably that it takes way too long for something to develop in the beginning. I used that primarily for character introduction and development. I guess that characters are what the first part of the story is about, but I think I was a bit long-winded. So if that crossed your mind as a criticism, I agree with you. :)

Now let's talk about personalities. For the most part, I left the original personalities of the characters from FFX/X-2 intact. A few others, I modified or expanded upon, like Paine and Tidus. I drew on other characters for inspiration in developing their personalities.

My characterization of _Tidus_ comes from a guy I know personally. Tidus in this story is **much** more an asshole than the person I based him on, who is a terrific athlete and the most random person I know.

_Auron_ remained the same for the most part, but I drew slightly off of Solid Snake in the Metal Gear series, and Sam Fisher in the Splinter Cell series to a larger degree, primarily due to his occupation in this story.

_Paine_ was inspired by Tom Cruise's performance of Vincent in the 2004 movie Collateral, one of my all-time favorite movies.

_Lulu_ was another hybrid of her original self and a little part of me (hey, I know myself better than most ;)). She is by no means a direct representation of me, but in the story, she defines herself around what she accomplishes and achieves, which is what I often do as well.

I sort of went with the flow when it came to _Kinoc_. I wanted him to be charming, even if he was evil. I wanted him to poise questions that cause the reader to say, "Wow. I know he's the bad guy, but he's got a point." I suppose I based him on another part of myself. If I were a sociopath, Kinoc and I would be very similar.

On the whole, I think I pretty much left the rest of the characters' personalities alone. The ones mentioned above either weren't really developed at all in the original games (Kinoc) or I needed to alter for my purposes (Paine, Auron, Lulu, Tidus). Plus, if Tidus is going to be irritating, then I'm making my own version of an irritating Tidus, dammit. :D

* * *

So, it's over. And I'm happy and sad at the same time. Happy that I'm finally finished after so many months of nearly-constant Writer's Block, and sad for the exact same reason.

But that's enough of my needless yammering. What did **you** think? **DROP ME A REVIEW! **Did you like the story? And if so, what about it did you like? I like details. That way, I know what's good and what I'm doing right. So please, spare a few minutes and give me some of your thoughts on Zanarkand, Full Circle. And don't worry about hurting my feelings if you have a bone to pick (as long as it's constructive). As much as I love ego inflation, I love hearing constructive criticism as well. It's hard to stomach at first, but the time one puts in to critiquing and suggesting alternatives means a lot. I put a lot of work into this, and I want to know what people honestly think. (If you have nothing but praise, that of course is fine too. :D)

And . . . that is that, as they say. I have a few ideas kicking around in my head for other things, so you'll probably see me again. Until that time, or until I hear from you next, take care of yourselves. To my readers and reviewers, new and old, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

~ SirGecko ~


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